Monthly Archives: September 2024

Bluecoat School, Caxton Street, Westminster

Two tickets have just become available for my walk “Limehouse – A Sink of Iniquity and Degradation”, this coming Sunday, the 6th of October. Click here for details and booking.

The following photo is from 1984 and shows one of the many Blue Coat figures which can be seen on surviving charity school buildings from the late 17th and 18th centuries across London:

Forty years later, the statue is still there, looking good and has obviously been restored since the 1984 photo:

The figure is on the building that was once a Bluecoat School in Caxton Street, Westminster, and as recorded on the plaque in the above photo, the building dates from 1709.

The figure in the above two photos is on the front of the building, however most first views of the old school are probably of the rear and side of the building, seen as you walk along Buckingham Gate. I was walking from Victoria Street along Buckingham Gate, so this was my first view of the building:

Although the surroundings have changed beyond all recognition, the building itself has hardly changed, as can be seen in the following print of the rear of the school, from 1850:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

In the above print, the school appears to have had railings and a wall surrounding its boundary, and also had a grassed area to the rear – possibly a small open space for the children of the school. Today, this is paved over:

The plaque on the first two photos of the front of the school dates the building to 1709, however the school was founded 21 years earlier in 1688 at the expense of “Divers well disposed persons Inhabitants of ye Parish of St. Margaret Westminster”.

The aim of the school was to teach the children of the poor the doctrines of the Church of England, and enable them to move on to an apprenticeship, or to gain an occupation.

As well as a limited form of education, children at the school were also given some degree of medical care, as in 1835, in a listing of physicians at the Royal Metropolitan Infirmary for Sick Children in Broad Street, Golden Square, a Mr. George S. Lilburn, M.D. was also listed as a “Physician to the Bluecoat School, Westminster”.

The school must have been successful in its first 21 years as the new school building was constructed in 1709 on land leased from the Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey, and funded by William Greene, a local brewer who paid for the school..

The interior of the building was simple, with a single school room above a basement. the exterior of the building was off brick, and was described as being of in a similar style to William Greene’s brewery.

Attendance at the school was initially for 20 boys who would be educated and clothed for free. The clothing was of the style shown on the figures around the building. As well as being the children of the poor, the parents or grandparents of the children would also have had to have lived in the parish of St. Margaret’s or St. John’s for at least a year.

A girls school appears to have been added not long after the new boys school was completed, as donations were being raised for a girls school of 20 pupils between 1713 and 1714.

Nothing today exists of the girls school, however recent research suggests that the girls school was located on the western side of the paved area at the rear of the boys school.

There were other buildings associated with the school that have been lost, including a headmaster’s house, so the single building we see today was part of a cluster of buildings forming a school for boys and girls.

The school was founded in 1688, and whilst this is just a date on a stone block on the school building, it is interesting to consider the state of the country when the school was founded, as both the charity and building did not exist in isolation. They were partly in response to what was happening in the country at the time.

The school was founded not long after the English Civil War (1642 to 1648), execution of Charles I (1649), the Commonwealth (1649 to 1660), restoration of the Monarchy with Charles II (1660), the Great Fire of London (1666), the reign of William and Mary (William III, 1689 to 1702), to prevent a Catholic succession after the death of James II, so the preceding 46 years had been one of considerable change, and the school was founded in the same year that James II’s wife, Mary of Moderna, gave birth to a son, James Francis Edward Stuart, who was next in line to the throne and would perpetuate a pro-Catholic approach by the English Crown.

The following is from the London Sun on Saturday the 29th of June, 1844, and announces a meeting where the audience will be asked for funds to support the Blue Coat school charity, and the article also provides some background as to the worries in the country when the school was founded, and concerns about the religious education of the young at such as time:

“BLUE-COAT SCHOOL, WESTMINSTER – The Rev. Dr. Colls will advocate the claims of the charity next Sunday morning at St. Peter’s Episcopal Chapel, Queen-square, St. James’s Park, in compliance with the particular request of a large body of Governors of that institution.

It may not, perhaps, be generally known that the Westminster Blue-coat School was the first of the kind in England, having been founded in the year 1688. a few months previous to the landing of King William, while this country was in a ferment at the impending danger to the Church and Constitution.

A few persons, grieved at the state of ignorance and irreligion in which the rising generation were then growing up, determined to make an effort to ground them thoroughly in the doctrines and the duties of the Christian religion, considering that this was the only effectual way to preserve the young from the sophistry of the infidel and the contamination of the profane.

In the choice of their advocate on the present occasion, the Governors of the charity have been fortunate, since the Rev. Dr. Colls is himself a practical example of the benefit and the blessing of early religious principles; and we hope he will be successful in opening the hands and hearts of his audience next Sunday morning in favour of the excellent charity.”

The plaque on the school building recording the original founding date of the school, one year before William and Mary landed from the Netherlands, and the “Glorious Revolution”:

The location of the church can be seen in the following map. the front of the school faces onto Caxton Street which has long been the official address of the school, and the western side is next to Buckingham Gate, with Victoria Street running left to right across the centre of the map  (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

Roughly 35 years after the new school building was constructed, Rocque’s map of 1746 shows the school (within the red circle), facing onto Chapel Street (the old name for Caxton Street), and alongside Horse Ferry Road (the old name for Buckingham Gate). Victoria Street will cut across the map in the mid 19th century:

What is interesting about the above map is the number of charity schools in the area, each with their own different coloured coat. I have marked the Green Coat School with the green circle and the Gray Coat School in the orange circle (a grey circle did not stand out well on the map).

The blue colour for the coats of the Blue Coast School seems to have been in use by 1700, when the uniform for the school was decided, and blue was chosen as “the most convenient colour would be Blew, being different from the other schools in the parish”.

When children went to, or left the charity schools in this small area, it must have been a scene of some colour with blue, green and grey coats being worn on the streets.

Also on the map, to the right of the Blue Coat School there is St. Margaret’s Burying Ground, showing an open space with a small chapel. The reference to the original founding of the school quoted earlier in the post states is was through “Divers well disposed persons Inhabitants of ye Parish of St. Margaret Westminster“.

St. Margaret’s was (and still is) the smaller church that is within the grounds of Westminster Abbey, in the north east corner, next to Parliament Square. The burying ground shown on the map was St. Margaret’s extra space for burials.

Part of this burying ground can still be found, the small, open space alongside Victoria Street, now known as Christchurch Gardens, which occupies roughly the middle third of the original burying grounds. The lower third is under Victoria Street and the upper third long built over. The remains of the burying ground today:

There were a number of Blue Coat Schools across London, and there seems to have been some competition, or confusion as to which school was founded first.

The following letter is from the Morning Herald on the 27th of July, 1830, and is in response to a previous comment about the schools of St. Botolph, Aldgate being older than the school facing Caxton Street::

“Sir, – In the Morning Herald of yesterday I observed a notice of a sermon for the charity schools of St. Botolph, Aldgate, it was appended a statement that these schools were the earliest of the kind instigated.

I should be extremely sorry to say one word which might be injurious to so excellent an institution, but justice to another admirable establishment compels me to deny the truth of the statement that the first charity school was established at St. Botolph.

The Blue-Coat School, Westminster, is beyond doubt the earliest of these institutions, having been established in the year 1688. Having been lately called upon to preach for that excellent charity I was led to investigate the matter, and obtained the following results:- The Blue Coat, Westminster, was established in 1688; a school in Norton Folgate in 1691, and that of St. Botolph, Aldgate, in 1697. In 1704 the number of schools had so increased that a general meeting of the children was held in St. Andrew’s Church, the number being about 2,000; the sermon was preached by Dr. Weller, Dean of Lincoln.

In 1716 the number of schools in London and Westminster was 124; the number of children 4,896; the entire number of schools in Great Britain and Ireland was1,239; the number of children 24,941; the greater part established within about 20 years.

To several of the early printed reports is attached the following note, (I copy from the sermon and report for 1716):- ‘All schools above mentioned have been set-up since 1697, except that belonging to the New Church in St. Margaret, Westminster, by the name of the Blue Coat School, which was set up Lady-day, 1688, for 50 boys, and the school of Norton-Folgate, erected in 1691, for 60 boys’.

I conclude with repeating that I have no wish to detract from the merits of St. Botolph’s school, but its friends have no right to claim for it that honour which so clearly belongs to another. I am, sir, your obedient servant, Thos. Stone, M.A. Assit. Curate St. john the Evangelist, Westminster.”

Whilst the Blue Coast School in Westminster may have been the first of this type of charity school, the problem with being a charity school was the constant need to raise funds, and the frequent shortage of sufficient funding to provide all the services that were intended by the trustees.

The following article from the Westminster and Chelsea News on the 28th of January, 1882 shows both one of the benefits of attending the school and the impact of a lack of funding (also note the use of Blew rather than Blue which seems to have been used a number of times):

“THE ‘BLEW COAT SCHOOL, WESTMINSTER. The annual dinner to the children of the ‘Blew’ Coat School, Westminster, the gift of John Lettsom Elliot, a former treasurer of the Charity, took place on the 20th inst. in the large school room, where the children were plentifully supplied with roast beef and plum pudding. This old and very useful Westminster Charity is, we are sorry to hear, sadly in need of support, the Governors being compelled to reduce the benefits in consequence, and singular to state this is the only ‘free’ school in Westminster, all the others having been closed. Mr. James Sarsons, the head master, conducted everything in his usual kind manner.”

The article highlights the precariousness of providing a service through a charity, in that the charity will always be after new funding, and that being dependent on charity funding, the services provided can only match the money available.

The article also states that the Blue Coast School was the only free school available in Westminster, so the other schools shown in Rocque’s map must have closed.

I have got this far in the post, and I have not yet shown the front of the school, so here is the building as it faces onto Caxton Street, with the blue coated figure shown in the photos at the start of the post:

The location of parked cars and a delivery lorry in the road opposite the school made it a bit difficult to photograph, but it is a lovely building and very different to the school’s surroundings.

The article above from 1882 was getting towards the end of the school’s history as a charity school as the provision of education was changing in the late 19th century, with the provision of free education for all children and the creation of the London School Board, which was responsible for many of the wonderful large brick late 19th century schools we can still see across London.

The location of the school was also suffering with the constant development of the area, for example with the construction of the District Line which resulted in the loss of part of the school’s land and buildings.

In 1898 the Governors of the school requested and received authorisation to close the school and transfer the land and building to the Vestry of St. Margaret and St. John, Westminster, who then transferred the school to the Christchurch National Schools, as part of the national church school system. The school then became the Infants department of Christchurch School, and attached to the church which has since been demolished, and which stood on the corner of Caxton Street and Broadway.

During the Second World War, the school was used by the Forces, after the war for community use such as the Girl Guides and as a Youth Club, as well as continuing use as an infant school until 1954.

The building was purchased by the National Trust in 1954, and was then restored and opened to the public.

Further restoration work was needed in 1974, when the Trust also installed offices in the basement.

The National Trust closed their shop along with public access to the old Blue Coat School building in 2013, when it then became a showroom for bridal wear designer Ian Stewart.

The building is Grade I listed. I am not sure if the building is still owned by the National Trust. The Historic England official list entry for the building does have National Trust in brackets after the name of the building, however the date of the most recent amendment is 1987, when the building was an open, National Trust property.

In the National Trust Heritage Records Online record for the building, the Most Recent Monitoring section has “None Recorded”, which implies that it is not a National Trust property as I assume they would be monitoring the building.

The building is now occupied by Studio Ashby, who appear to be residential and commercial interior designers, and on their website they state that they have “become the next custodians of this magical and historic site”, which implies the building is now privately owned.

From photos on Studio Ashby’s website, the interior still includes the following features from the Historic England listing “Fine interior forming single tall space with pilasters and niches to walls, entablature and coved ceiling; four fluted Corinthian columns mark entrance; fireplace to opposite end” – although the fireplace is not visible, and the whole of the interior is painted white.

The building’s Grade I listing should help preserve the building into the future, and it is good to see the statue and plaque on the front looking better today than they were in 1984.

The Blue Coat School in Caxton Street is an important reminder of the development of education in London, and how the aim of these charities was to give the children of the poor a religious education, along with gaining the skills needed to get an apprenticeship, or to work.

A wonderful survivor given how much this area has changed, and continues to change.

alondoninheritance.com

Soho Pubs – Part 2

Tickets for my final Southbank walk until next summer: The South Bank – Marsh, Industry, Culture and the Festival of Britain, on the 20th of October, are now available by clicking here.

I am back in Soho for this week’s post, continuing my exploration of Soho pubs, including one that claims to be “the West End’s best known pub”, and that “it’s a deeply loved London institution with a rich history”.

The pub with these claims will be later in the post, and is one of many fascinating and individual pubs to be found across part of London which, along with the City, has the highest density of pubs, and where drinking has been embedded in the culture of the place.

Today’s tour starts with:

The Crown and Two Chairmen – Dean Street

The Crown and Two Chairmen is one of the more unusual London pub names. The building we see today dates from 1929, however there has been a pub on the site since 1736 when it was called just the Crown.

The story about the change of name to the Crown and Two Chairmen is that two sedan chair men who were taking Queen Anne to have her portrait painted by Sir James Thornhill, who apparently had his studio in the area, would call at the pub for a drink.

One of the places where this story was put forward was an article in the Sporting Life on the 3rd of November 1926 on historic pubs, where the following was written about the Crown and Two Chairmen, as one of the oldest-established hostelries in the West End:

“It is the only inn of the name in London, and is said to derive its title from the fact that the bearers of Queen Anne’s chair were wont to beguile their time there while Her Majesty was sitting for her portrait to Sir James Thornhill, who lived in the house opposite. This house, No. 74, is still standing next door to the Royalty Theatre.

The Crown and Two Chairmen is probably the tavern mentioned by George Augustus Sala as the one in which he first saw Thackeray. The house was kept by one Dick Moreland, supposed to have been the last landlord in London to wear a pigtail and top-boots, and a small club was held upstairs.”

The problem with this story is that Queen Anne died in 1714, twenty two years before the original pub seems to have been built. The change in name was probably to separate the pub from another pub with the same original name, the Crown in Brewer Street.

I cannot find exactly when the pub changed name, the earliest reference I can find is from August 1811, when the landlord of the pub was unwittingly involved with handling a stolen £10 note. In this reference, the pub had the name of Crown and Two Chairmen.

Whether or not the Queen Anne reference is correct, the pub has one of the more unusual names in London.

The Dog and Duck – Bateman Street

So many London pubs are on the corner of two streets. This makes sense as a corner location stands out far more than within a terrace. Potential customers walking along multiple streets can see the pub, however it does cause confusion with the address of a pub. What street should apply?

Taking the Dog and Duck, the longest side of the building, with three upper floor window bays is on Bateman Street, and this is the street used in the address of the pub, however, searching for references to the pub, Frith Street is used just as many times as Bateman Street, and Frith Street has by far the shortest side of the pub, with just a single window bay.

As an example, the building is Grade II listed, and in the Historic England listing, Bateman Street is given as the address of the pub in the header to the entry, however Frith Street is used in the entry detail.

The listing states that that Dog and Duck was built in 1897, and designed by Francis Chambers for the Cannon Brewery. The interior of the pub is “an exceptional survival of a small late Victorian pub interior with tile work, mirrors and high-quality joinery”.

Although the current pub building dates from 1897, it was built on the site of an early 18th century pub with the same name. The earliest reference I can find to the pub dates from the 17th of July, 1752, and reads: “On Tuesday, about Five o’clock in the afternoon, as Lieutenant-Colonel Demarr, of Col. Holmes’s late Regiment of Marines was going along Thrift Street, Soho, he was suddenly taken ill, and went into the Dog and Duck Alehouse, where a Surgeon was sent for to bleed him, but to no purpose, for he expired in a short time.”

The spelling of the street as Thrift Street in the above article must have been an error, as the name Frith Street appears on maps in the 17th century and onwards.

In 2003, newspapers were reporting that the pop star Madonna was a visitor to the Dog and Duck, and that “The ‘Material Girl’ told how she had developed a taste for Landlord at the Dog and Duck in London’s Soho, where it has been sold for about 10 years. her revelation on Jonathan Ross’s BBC talk show has caused a flurry of media activity and now the Campaign for Real Ale are claiming bitter is back in Vogue”.

A nice touch with exterior decoration to the pub is that on the corner of the pub, where there should be a window on the third floor is the following relief showing a dog with a duck in its mouth:

The French House – Dean Street

The pub has had the formal name of the French House for a relatively short period of time, it was originally called the York Minster.

Another example of being careful with sources, Wikipedia states that the “pub was opened by a German national named Christian Schmitt in 1891 and traded as York Minster”, however there are plenty of newspaper reports that mention the pub, going back several decades in the 19th century, with the earliest I could find being from 1837 when a horse trotting challenge was being advertised and that the challenge could be backed at the York Minster, Dean Street, Soho.

The French theme to the pub has been around for some time, in parallel to being called the York Minster.

Although an early landlord was a German national, the pub was for long managed by a Belgian national, one Victor Berlemont, who had a son, Gaston Berlemont who was born in the pub in 1914.

Gaston was a British national, who lived in Soho, and served in the RAF, and became the landlord of the York Minister when his father died in 1951. He continued as landlord until retirement, rather appropriately on Bastille Day in 1989.

The pub was popular with the Free French forces during the Second World War and later Gaston promoted a Gallic image for the pub, and long before the change of name, it became known as “The French”.

There are two films of Gaston’s retirement on the 14th of July 1989 on YouTube. Part 1 is here (if received via email, you will need to go to the post on the website here to view):

And part 2 is here:

As can be seen in the above two films, the name of the pub in 1989 was the French House, and the name change had taken place 5 years earlier in 1984 after the fire at the real York Minster, when apparently donations for the repair of the church in York were being received at the pub in Soho, which Gaston did forward to York (and there is a story that wine destined for the pub in Soho reached the real York Minster in York).

The change in name was really just a formality for the pub due to its decades long association with a French influence. For example, in The Tatler on the 28th of January, 1953, the pub was described as follows: “York Minster, Dean Street, opposite bombed St. Anne’s. Upstairs in the small pub there is excellent, plain French cooking to be had most days. It is lucky if you happen to like one of the plats du jour, for they are one of the best bets. You can have wine by the glass and those who favour the drink can watch absinthe dripping into their glass on the zinc downstairs. There is nothing very French-looking about the York Minster (nothing except the period, to remind you of the Toulouse-Lautrec film), but most of the clientele is Soho-French. So is the patron.”

The French influence continues to this day, with the French flags on the front of the pub, and with the menu at the first floor restaurant.

Admiral Duncan – Old Compton Street

The Admiral Duncan in Old Compton Street, known as Soho’s oldest gay pub, was the scene of a bomb attack in 1999, when it was the third London site attacked by the so called at the time “London Nail Bomber”.

Although no one had died in the previous two attacks, the bomb at the Admiral Duncan killed three,. When the attacker was sent for trial, newspapers summarized the accusations: “A 23 year old engineer accused of murdering three people in London nail bombings was committed for trial yesterday at the Old Bailey. **********, of Cove, Hampshire, is accused of murdering Andrea Dykes, John Light and Nicholas Moore in a bomb blast at the Admiral Duncan pub in Soho, central London, on April 30th. He is also accused of three counts of causing an explosion relating to the bombing at Electric Avenue, Brixton, south London, on April 17th, a bombing in the Brick Lane, east London the following Saturday and at Soho on April 30th.”

He should have been charged with four murders as Andrea Dykes was pregnant.

The choice of bomb locations, where minority and vulnerable people were targets gives some indication of the attacker’s motivations as a neo-Nazi, who used bombs packed with nails, designed to cause maximum harm to anyone in the vicinity of the explosion, and many of the 139 injured in the three attacks had horrific injuries.

He told police that he “wanted to be an infamous murderer who started a race war”.

The above newspaper report included his name, however I have deleted it, as people who do this should not have their names remembered (as was his intention), rather they should be consigned to oblivion. He was given 6 life sentences, and hopefully should never be released, although he is eligible for parole in his seventies.

The Admiral Duncan pub seems to date from the early decades of the 19th century, I suspect it was 1826 as the Admiral Duncan was advertising for staff, for example with the following advert from the Morning Advertiser on Thursday 15th of June, 1826: “WANTED in a Public-House a SERVANT of ALL-WORK. A young Woman of good character may apply at the Admiral Duncan, Old Compton-street, Soho.”

The bomb attacks were the result of an individuals hatred and discrimination of other communities, and the above advert of staff in 1826 ended with another example, as it ended with “No Irish person need apply”.

A couple of month later, the Admiral Duncan was advertising for “a SERVANT of ALL-WORK – A young English WOMAN of good character”.

I do not know if this was specific to the landlord of the Admiral Duncan in 1826, as you do not see this type of discrimination that often in adverts for pub staff in the early 19th century.

The pub is named after Admiral Adam Duncan, who was the Admiral in charge of the Royal Navy fleet that defeated the Dutch fleet in the battle of Camperdown (or Camperduin, the Dutch name of the town on the coast of the Netherlands) off where the battle was fought.

The battle was a significant victory, and is ranked as one of the most important actions in the history of the Royal Navy.

Duncan was made a Viscount and received an annual pension of £3,000 as a reward for his success, and there seems to have been a number of pubs given the name of the Admiral Duncan in the first half of the 19th century.

Comptons – Old Compton Street

Comptons in Old Compton Street is another Soho LBGTQ pub, however the current name is relatively recent.

It started out as the Swiss Hotel a private hotel that seems to have catered for the Swiss community as in 1874 is was advertising for “a young Swiss”, who also speaks English. Whether having Swiss staff was to support a Swiss customer base, or as a novelty for English customers is not clear.

It could be the former as a year earlier in 1873, there was an advert placed by a Swiss person who gave the Swiss Hotel as an address, and who was looking for a position as an indoor servant, and among their abilities were listed as being able to speak French, German and Italian, and a little English. The hotel seems to have been a place for those from Switzerland to stay.

The earliest reference to the Swiss Hotel I can find dates from 1871 when there is a record of the license being transferred from James Dennler to Rodolphe Stauffer.

The Survey of London volumes for Soho entry for the Swiss Hotel opens with “This was built in 1890 to the plans of the architects W. A. Williams and Hopton, who exhibited their design in that year at the Royal Academy.”

The Survey of London does not make any mention of the Swiss Hotel as being in Old Compton Street before 1890, however taking newspapers from the 1870s and 1880s, there are mentions of the Swiss Hotel, and 1890 could be a reference to the build of the current building on the site, rather than the institution of the Swiss Hotel.

The last reference to the name Swiss Hotel I could find is from 1969 when it was the site for a large gathering of West End members of the National Association of Theatrical and Kine Employees union.

By 1972 is was known as the Swiss Tavern, and was the home of the Playroom Theatre Club, which was advertised as “A new lunchtime company, has been formed by Jonathan Burn and Alan West at the Swiss Tavern, 53 Old Compton Street, W.1. The aim is to present original and experimental productions, for which applicants are welcomed whether engaged in the evenings or not. Workshop exercises with emphasis not only on the group but on individual expression will be part of the activities. A number of directors, writers, actors designers and technical personnel are already collaborating but a total number of from ten to fourteen is needed.”

One of the productions put on at the Playroom Theatre Club in 1973 attracted much publicity, including the following from the “Entertainment” section of the Marylebone Mercury (excuse the language):

“On the fringe of respectability – THEATRE on the cheap is alive and doing all right in the pubs of Soho. They call it fringe theatre and it certainly is in every way – on the borderline of respectability, like Soho itself, and of bankcrupty.

The Playroom Theatre Club, above the Swiss Tavern pub in Old Compton Street has been going a year almost with productions like ‘Areatha in the Ice Palace’ and ‘Wankers’.

The Swiss Tavern is opposite a sex-movie club, next door to a strip club. No wonder one of the biggest hits by Playroom was ‘Wankers’, which had to be retained for an extra week.

People who think ‘ pornography’ must be awfully disappointed, said producer Judith Wills from Missouri.”

Later in the article, the producers complained that “So far, despite pressure, the Arts Council has refused to help this sort of fringe theatre”, and that this refusal could have been due to being over a pub. There was a number of other fringe theatre groups operating in pubs across Soho.

The Playroom Theatre Group does not seem to have lasted beyond the end of 1973, however the Swiss Tavern continued to be one of the Soho pubs frequented by those in the acting profession.

The name Swiss Tavern disappeared in the 1980s, and by the end of the decade it was known as Compton’s, and in the 1990s, its current identity was well established, as this report from the Scotsman on the 13th of June 1996, illustrates:

“SORRY, but there only is one game in town – England v Scotland on Saturday. It is understood that much of London pubs, clubs and other places of entertainment, plans to close down in spite of Scottish fans having one of the best reputations in world football.

But at least one pub will be open. Compton’s in Old Compton Street run by Stevie and George from Glasgow, will welcome Scots. One thing to remember; it is reputed to be Soho’s best gay pub.”

The Golden Lion – Dean Street

The Survey of London records that the Golden Lion existed in 1728, so this is an old pub, although the building on the site today is a later version of the pub, having been built at the end of the 1920s for the brewer William Younger.

The current version of the Golden Lion does retain a number of features saved from the earlier building, including this rather impressive sun dial from the time before the rebuild when it was known as Ye Golden Lion:

The journalist, author, TV presenter, and Soho drinker, Daniel Farson wrote the book “Soho in the Fifties” about his time in Soho during the decade, the people he met, the pubs restaurants etc. The book contains many of Farson’s photos of life around Soho at the time, and it is a brilliant book for a snapshot of Soho, a Soho that for the most part, has been lost.

He wrote about the Golden lion under the title “The Queer Pubs”:

“In Soho there were two ‘queer pubs’ as they were called then, the Fitzroy off Charlotte Street to the north, and the Golden Lion in Dean Street to the south. Though the Lion was a few doors away from the French, the two pubs had so little in common that they might have been in separate towns. Married couples wandered into the Lion by mistake and left swiftly when they discovered they were surrounded by strange men, or remained, delighted by their chance discovery, but Gaston (at the French) did not encourage stragglers who crossed the frontier for a change of scene, and one of his quizzical stares sufficed to scare them off again. Only a few customers were regulars of both.”

The Golden Lion later achieved some notoriety as the serial killer Dennis Nilsen picked up at least one of his victims at the pub.

The Coach & Horses – Greek Street

On the sign on the corner of the pub, the Coach & Horses claims that it is “the West End’s best known pub”, and on the pub’s website, that “it’s a deeply loved London institution with a rich history”, but fails to put any of this history on the pub’s website.

The claims seem to stem from one man, Norman Balon, the Landlord for an incredible length of time from 1943 to 2006, when he lived up to his self proclaimed reputation as being the “rudest landlord in London”.

Typical of the many accounts of Norman Balon’s last day at the Coach and Horses is the following:

“The strangely coveted title of London’s Rudest Landlord is now vacant, as its long-time holder, Norman Balon of the Coach and Horses, Soho, tucks the sale price of the pub into his locally made suit and takes the Underground home to his home in Golders Green.

Mr. Balon, 79, has told more people to drink up and leave than Jeffrey Bernard drank large vodka-ice-and-sodas at his bar side during the decades he wrote Low Life, his celebrated Spectator column.

Last week the pub overflowed like a badly pulled pint with well-wishers. Richard Ingrams, founder of satirical magazine Private Eye made a two-sentence speech: ‘the only man grumpier than me. I salute you’.

Writer Beryl Bainbridge cheered, Spencer Bright, biographer of both Boy George and Norman Balon, looked sad.

For this is the pub behind Michael Heath’s extraordinary cartoon strip ‘The Regulars’ in Private Eye, which once had one Regular saying to another ‘I’m sorry I was rude last night. You see, I was sober’.

At the farewell bash, Heath remarked ‘I don’t remember Norman being rude. in fact, i don’t remember anything from those years’.

By classic Soho standards of stiletto rudeness, Norman Balon was a measured man. Tourists asking for sandwiches might, though, be puzzled to be told to leave and not come back. It was a defense mechanism against bores. The Coach, as everyone called it, was a pub for talking, since Mr. Balon would tolerate no jukebox, among other things.”

The Coach and Horses featured in the play, “Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell”, by Keith Waterhouse, which opened in London at the Apollo Theatre in Shaftesbury Lane in October 1989, with Peter O’Toole playing the lead character of Jeffrey Bernard, with a small supporting cast.

Jeffrey Bernard was a journalist who wrote for Private Eye and Sporting Life, and for the Spectator under the name of “Low Life”, where he wrote about his life in Soho and in the Coach and Horses where he was very much a regular.

The magazine Private Eye held their lunches at the pub for 25 years.

Norman Balon’s biography was ghost written by Spencer Bright and went by the title of “You’re Barred, You Bastards: The Memoirs of a Soho Publican”.

There is a conversation with Norman Balon here (again click here to go to the website if you cannot see the post):

There is a 1987 BBC Arena documentary about Jeffrey Bernard which includes film within the Coach & Horses:

And another documentary on Jeffrey Bernard – Reach for the Ground, which includes some film of Soho as it was:

The Coach and Horses is Grade II listed, both the pub building, and as part of a block of adjoinging buildings. It is listed for the exterior architecure and for surviving internal features.

The first record of a license for the Coach and Horses dates back to 1724. The current building dates from around 1840, and the pub was remodeled and extended in 1889, with the interior bar from 1930 when the pub was taken over by Taylor, Walker & Company.

It is a wonderful pub, and a reminder of a lost Soho.

The Three Greyhounds – Greek Street

The Three Greyhounds claims that the name comes from the greyhounds that roamed the area that became Soho, when it was open field.

The pub appears to date back to 1837, when Soho was a densely built and populated area of London, and greyhounds roaming the fields would have been a couple of centuries before. The mock Tudor styling of the pub probably intends to give its appearance some age.

I cannot find too much of a history to the Three Greyhounds, apart from it being a typical Soho pub which attracted its fair share of writers, musicians, those active in the theatre industry etc. All who were once part of the drinking culture of Soho.

The journalist, author, TV presenter, and Soho drinker, Daniel Farson quoted earlier in the section on the Golden Lion, included in his book a summary of “A Soho Type of Person” and which encapsulates how drinking was such an important part of the culture of Soho:

A Soho Type of Person:

The drinkers in the French symbolised Soho in 1951.

What makes a Soho type of person? You need a Bohemian streak to find the lure irresistible. You would never contemplate going out for ‘just the one’ unless it was the one day. Soho people rarely use ‘drink’ in the singular – lets meet for a drink, or we’ll discuss it over a drink – for they know that that much singularity is absurd. Yet they take offence if someone asks them if they want ‘another’ for the semblance of self-discipline is vital.

An alcoholic hates drink; the Soho person loves it. This is why there are so few alcoholics in Soho though plenty of drunks.

Soho people do not tell ‘jokes’ and avoid the eyes of those who do. They relish true stories, especially of their friends’ disasters. equally they enjoy celebrating a friend’s success….when the friend is paying. The good luck might rub off.

A Soho person is someone:

  • who is not afraid to cry in public;
  • who rarely travels by public transport, preferring the privacy of taxis;
  • who regards taxes of the other sort, and all brown envelopes with little windows, as an unwarrantable intrusion;
  • who cashes cheques anywhere, except the bank;
  • who seldom knows the date;
  • who will miss a dinner appointment if he is enjoying himself;
  • who has been barred from at least one pub, club or restaurant;
  • whose life staggers from the gutter to the Ritz and maybe back again.

Pubs have long been an important part of life in Soho, and is one of the reasons why so many pubs remain. I will continue exploring these wonderful institutions in part 3 of my tour of Soho pubs.

For more on the author Daniel Farson quoted in this post, see my post on The Waterman’s Arms – Isle of Dogs.

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Strand Lane, a Tragic Story and William Lilly

Tickets for my final Southbank walk until next summer: The South Bank – Marsh, Industry, Culture and the Festival of Britain, on the 20th of October, are now available by clicking here.

As well as finding the locations of my father’s photos, it is fascinating to see how London has changed compared to any old photo, and the three volume set of Wonderful London from the 1920s is a fantastic source to compare how London has changed in the past 100 years, and the following photo of Strand Lane from the book took me to a very old place with a long story:

The text from Wonderful London with the above photo reads: “Strand Lane is thought to have once been the bed of a stream which ran down from Drury Lane to the Thames. A bridge called Strand Bridge crossed it, and the name was afterwards transferred to the landing stage at the bottom. The entrance to the Roman Bath is just to the right of the passage under the old watch house, and the property belongs to the parish of St. Mary’s. Just below the point where the camera stood for this photograph are some steps on the right leading up to Surrey Street”.

There is some truth and also a big error in the above 1920s text, which I will come to later in the post.

The same view today (although not exactly from the right place as there was a van and a car parked to the right and behind where I was standing):

The photographer for Wonderful London walked through the passage under the house, and took another photo looking down Strand Lane:

So I did the same:

The Wonderful London text for the second photo reads: “A low entry opposite the church of St. Mary-le-Strand leads to this quant passage. In former times Strand Lane led down to Strand Bridge, a landing place for boats much used by the inmates of Strand Inn, which lay just to the west of the lane. In ‘The Spectator’ it is recorded that Addison landed with a ten sail of apricot boats at Strand bridge for somebody’s stall in Covent Garden. There used to be some tenements in the Lane called Golden Buildings, but at present the backs of high houses on the east and a brick wall on the west are all that keep it as a lane.”

The description of the lane in the last sentence of the above 1920s text can equally apply to much of the lane today, but where is Strand Lane?

I have marked the location of Strand Lane within the red oval in the following map  (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The entrance to Strand Lane is from the south, along Temple Place. The Strand Campus of King’s College London occupies the large area of land to the west, and also the buildings along the eastern side of the lane, so today, Strand Lane seems to be fully within the campus of King’s College London.

Today, the lane comes to a dead end at the north. The Wonderful London description states that entry to the lane from the north was through a “low entry opposite the church of St. Mary-le-Strand leads to this quant passage“, however this has been closed off for the last fifty years due to the expansion of the college buildings.

Rocque’s map of 1746 shows that Strand Lane was to be found in the mid 18th century, and also shows how the lane ran directly to the Strand, just opposite the eastern end of St. Mary-le-Strand. Strand Lane can be seen running down from the Strand, in the centre of the following extract from Rocque’s map:

In the above map, you can see that Strand Lane runs down to a set of stairs into the river which went by the name of Strand Bridge.

In an 18th century reproduction of an earlier map, we can see Strand Lane, with the name of Strand Bridge Lane on the left edge of the map, when it was along the western border of the old Arundel House, one of the large houses and grounds that once lined the area between the Strand and the river:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

The above map shows 4 small boats at the end of Strand Bridge Lane, illustrating that this was a place where you could take a boat along the river for a fee.

The use of the word “Bridge”, either in the name of the lane, or for the landing place at the end of the lane can best be described by taking the following extract from “London Past and Present” by Henry B. Wheatley (1891) :

“Strand Lane, in the Strand, east of Somerset House, and opposite the east end of St. Mary’s Church, was originally the channel of the rivulet which crossed the great thoroughfare under Strand Bridge. It must be remembered that the Strand at this part has been raised fully 20 feet above the ancient level. The lane led to the landing place, at one time known as Strand Bridge; but this was destroyed in forming the Thames Embankment and the lane is no longer a thoroughfare.”

“London Past and Present” also includes a passage from the 1709 publication “History of the Quakers” to substantiate a claim that there were once 311 open channels of water crossing the roadway between Westminster Hall and the Royal Exchange:

“The 18th December 1656, J. Naylor suffered part; and after having stood full two hours with his head in the Pillory, was stripped and whipped at a cart’s tail, from Palace Yard to the Old Exchange, and received three hundred and ten stripes; and the executioner would have given him one more (as he confessed to the Sheriff), ‘there being three hundred and eleven kennels’, but his foot slipping, the stroke fell upon his own hand, which hurt him much.”

“Kennels” were streams of water that ran either along the middle or along the edges of a street. One place where Kennels can still be found is Wells in Somerset, where there are streams flowing in channels along the sides of the streets:

Whether there were 311 streams or channels of water leading down to the river, crossing the road between Westminster and the Royal Exchange in the heart of the City is impossible to confirm and it does seem like a very large number, however there must have been a significant amount of small streams, and Strand Lane appears to be the route of one of these old streams. A reminder of how much we have changed the land surface of the city over the centuries, with so many of the original natural features erased or buried.

The plan of Arundel House shows the street as Strand Bridge Street, and perhaps the stream of water also acted as the western border of the plot of land on which Arundel House was built.

This is the entrance to Strand Lane from Temple Place. the buildings of King’s College London line the two sides of the land, and there is an enclosed overhead walking route between the two sides:

Temple Place, and the Embankment which was behind me when I took the above photo, were built during the late 19th century, so originally, the Thames came up to the roadway in front of me, and this was where the stairs at the end of Strand Lane could be found.

I use old newspapers for research into the places I write about. You need to be careful about journalistic spin, and as ever, newspapers always focus on the bad aspects of life, however they do give a good impression of day to day life in a city such as London.

We also tend to romanticise the London of the past, however if you did not have money, London was often a dark and brutal place for the poor, and particularly for girls and women, and whilst researching Strand Lane, I came across one of the most appalling and sad stories that I have read. This was reported across several newspapers on the 16th of June, 1786:

“Saturday morning the body of a fine young woman was taken out of the Thames at the end of Strand Lane, where she had drowned herself the preceding night. She appeared to be about eighteen years of age, and was known to have been turned out of doors the day before, by one of those inhuman monsters, in the shape of women, who keep brothels in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane.

The poor young victim had been brought from her parents at the age of eleven years, by the mistress of the Bagnio, from which she was dismissed when her face grew common, and the charms of extreme youth and novelty were no longer a temptation to debauched constitutions, and debilitated age. Thus thrown upon the town, penniless, and heart-broken, she put an end to her existence. the body was taken to a house in Strand Lane.”

The article states “charms of extreme youth and novelty” when she should have been described as a child, and although from the article some of her history was known, the article does not even give her the dignity of a name.

One cannot begin to imagine how much she must have suffered by the time she ended her life at the end of Strand Lane, in the Thames at what is now Temple Place and the Embankment.

Looking up Strand Lane today, the white house from the Wonderful London photo towards the end of the lane, buildings of King’s College on either side, a mix of very different architecture, and overhead crossings:

View to the west of Strand Lane, with a large, brick building with what looks like an apse, the curved section at the end of the building, almost over hanging the lane:

There is an unusual feature on the very top of the building in the above photo, a dome to house an astronomical telescope:

I wonder how much of the night sky can be seen given the level of light pollution in central London?

Approaching the end of Strand Lane, the van, and a car behind it, was the reason that I could not get into the right position to take an identical photo to that in Wonderful London. Whilst I was there, the lane seemed to be used for deliveries to and from King’s College buildings:

To the right of the van in the above photo, you can see some white tiling on the wall. This is the entrance to Surrey Steps:

Surrey Steps connect Surrey Street with Strand Lane:

One of the buildings that runs between Surrey Street and Strand Lane forms an arch over Surrey Steps. The end is gated so there is no public access from Surrey Street through to Strand Lane:

Surrey Steps is shown, but not named, in Rocque’s 1746 map, and I have highlighted them within the orange oval in the following extract from the map (note that where the steps meet Strand Lane, there appears to be some shading which would be the steps leading down to the lane):

I have also highlighted another feature in the above map, one that cannot be found today having been built over by Kings College buildings. This was Naked Boy Court, and the court featured in the earliest newspaper reference I could find to Strand Lane, from the 9th of January, 1733:

“On Friday Night the House of Mrs. Smith, a noted Midwife in Naked-Boy-Court, near Strand-lane, was broke open and robbed of 19 Guineas, 24 Broad Pieces, and several suites of Wearing Apparel.”

There were a number of Naked Boy Courts and Alleys in 18th century London, and the name seems to have come from a sign of a “youthful Bacchus astride a barrel”.

Walking into Surrey Street and this is the opposite end of Surrey Steps and shows that they are closed and gated:

There is also a sign on the wall at top left stating: “The National Trust Roman Bath, Down Steps Turn Right”.

Not only are the directions impossible to follow, but if you did get through the gate and down the steps, you would not find a Roman Bath, but the remains of a cistern dating from 1612 and built to feed a fountain in the gardens of Somerset House.

Just to show that you cannot always believe what you read, even in old books that for the most part are authoritative and accurate, in the book “London Past and Present” which I have quoted earlier in the post, Henry B. Wheatley states that “on the east side of this lane is a genuine, ancient Roman bath which is well worth inspection”.

Wonderful London also mentioned the Roman bath in the description to the photo.

In researching my blog posts, I always try to use multiple sources, books, maps, academic journals etc. to ensure they are as accurate as possible.

The Roman Baths / 17th century cistern are inside the building shown in the following photo, within Strand Lane. They are owned by the National Trust, but to gain access you need to contact Westminster Council at least a week in advance.

At the northern end of Strand Lane, there is no further access. This is where the old lane turned to the left / west in the 1746 map, and the turn is still here, but abruptly ends at a metal gate and the King’s College buildings that were built over the rest of where Strand Lane ran up to the Strand:

The northern end of Strand Lane was blocked up in 1971, using an order under section 153 of the Town and Country Planning Act, 1962 entitled ‘The Stopping up of Highways (City of Westminster), No. 3 Order 1971, authorising the stopping up of a length of Strand Lane.”

Looking back down Strand Lane with the brick building and apse on the right:

The building on the right appears from a plan of the college to be the King’s Building, and this link appears to have a photo of a large ornate room at the header of the page, which includes an apse at the far end, so perhaps this is the interior of the building with the apse almost hanging over Strand Lane.

Another view of the building:

Looking up at how the apse is supported:

Another delivery van enters Strand Lane:

Walking up to the Strand, and there is no sign of where Strand Lane once entered the Strand. From aligning maps, it seems to have been in the section of the building between the first and second pillars from the right, in the bay to the left of the “Welcome to King’s” sign:

At the far end of the King’s College building is the old Strand / Aldwych Underground Station, and on the side is green plaque:

Telling that William Lilly, Master Astrologer lived in a house on the site:

William Lilly was born in the county of Leicester, and the Leicester Chronicle on the 25th of October 1930 provides a summary of his life under the perfect local paper headline of “Diseworth Man’s Lucky Prophecies”:

“Leicestershire has given birth to some famous men. One of these, undoubtedly, is William Lilly, who was the first man in England to produce a prophetic almanac. He was born in Diseworth in 1602 and went to Ashby Grammar School. At the age of eighteen he journeyed to London and entered ‘service’.

He was fortunate to find in the City, a prosperous Leicestershire man who wanted a servant. Lilly was engaged to do odd jobs, but as his master was illiterate, and found the Diseworth youth was good at figures he employed him to keep his accounts.

It seems to have been the policy of William Lilly, all his life, to look specially after William Lilly. He so wormed his way into his master’s favour that he was awarded a legacy of £20 a year when the old man died in 1627. That was not enough for him, so he wooed the young widow and persuaded her to marry him. Six years later she died, leaving him property worth £1,000.

That gave him a start. he was now a man of leisure, and devoted a good deal of time to the study of astrology – then a very popular science (!), for most people believed in the influence of the stars on public and private lives. At the age of 42 he brought out his almanac, signing himself Meilinus Anglicus, junr.”

William Lilly:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

The article continues:

“His almanac succeeded so well, and served him as so good an advertisement, that he set up a sort of astrologer’s business, being prepared to read the future for all who were willing to pay him. It seems extraordinary to us of the twentieth century that the most distinguished people of Lilly’s time used to patronise him, anxious to hear what the stars had to say about coming events.

Cromwell himself is said to have consulted the Diseworth astrologer. In 1648, when the Roundheads were besieging Colchester, and were not getting on very well, Lilly was sent for. He prophesied an early surrender, and the parliamentary troops were so encouraged that they forced the city to fulfil the prophecy.

But while Lilly was taking money from the Parliamentarians he was also feathering his nest from Royalist sources. He was consulted as to how King Charles might escape from his captors, and actually prepared a scheme for enabling the unfortunate monarch to get free. It failed because Charles had not the courage to carry it through to the end.

When the Stuarts were restored, Lilly’s fame began to decline, but he had several strokes of luck in his almanac. One of the prophecies, for instance, was taken to have been a clear indication that he knew the Great Fire of London was to happen; another helped him to acquire the favour of the king of Sweden, who sent him a gold chain worth £50.

In his old age Lilly found it wise to retire and keep out of the public eye. He lived to pass his eightieth birthday. He was a shrewd old man, if often unscrupulous and once his shrewdness saved him. He had prophesized in his almanac for 1653 that the Parliament would not last long, and that the Commonwealth would soon come to an end. He was summonsed to appear before a Governmental committee to account for his publication, but, before he attended, he got his printers to let him have some copies from which the objectionable prophecies were omitted. He presented them and protested that the other copies were spurious, issued by his enemies – and thus saved his skin.”

William Lilly and one of his annual almanacs:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

William Lilly, an example of one of the problems of walking around London, there is always so much to find in any small area, as Lilly lived just to the north east of Strand Lane.

Strand Lane is a strange place. There are gates up against the wall at the entrance from Temple Place. I cannot remember if I have ever seen them closed. It is also not clear whether Strand Lane is really public space, or it is part of the King’s College campus, as buildings of the college line both sides of the lane.

The entry into Surrey Steps from Surrey Street is closed and locked, implying that this entrance to the lane is not public space.

In all the time I was looking around, and photographing the lane, there was no challenge, however the only other people in the lane were clearly those who had business with King’s College, and it is a dead end, so there is no destination to be reached by walking along the lane.

It is though, a fascinating place. Possibly the route of a very old “kennel” or stream that ran from north of the Strand, under Strand Bridge, down to the river. It was cut off from the Thames in the late 19th century when the Embankment was built, but for long was a landing place, a boundary between the river and land, and was once also the western boundary to Arundel House.

It was also the site of the tragic suicide of an eighteen year old girl, who must have suffered much in her short life in eighteenth century London.

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The Gates of Stationers’ Hall – Perhaps

Three of my father’s photos in today’s post, which goes by the title of “The Gates of Stationers’ Hall – Perhaps”.

The reason for “Perhaps” at the end of the title is that I am still not completely sure that I have found the right location, but, as I will explain in the post, I cannot find any other location for the photo.

Each of the three photos are looking through some ornate iron gates, or railings, with part of St. Paul’s Cathedral in the background, with the twin towers on either side of the western entrance to the cathedral and the dome providing a clear landmark:

In the photo above, you can see a line of buildings leading to a gap towards the right of the photo where part of the western entrance to the cathedral can be seen.

In the photo below, you can now see the dome, again through ornate ironwork, with more of the row of buildings in front of the cathedral:

There is no glass in the windows of the building on the left, probably from wartime bomb damage. The buildings in the above photo were where the Paternoster Square development is today.

The following photo is very similar to the above photo, but is looking slightly to the right, with part of the western entrance visible:

The Guilds and Livery Companies of the City of London often had their halls set back from the street, with a small courtyard in front, and an alley leading to the street. The alley would have an ornate iron gate to secure access to the courtyard and hall.

One of these halls, Stationers’ Hall is just to the west of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and I checked the OS map published a couple of years after my father took the above photo, and the location of the hall, and view across to the cathedral does seem to correspond to the three photos (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“):

In the above map, I have underlined Stationers’ Hall with a red line. The square to the lower left of the hall is their garden, and to the lower right is a small courtyard with the double lines, possibly of a gate just to the left of the red arrow, and the lane Stationers Hall Court which could also have been the location of the gates.

The red arrow shows the rough direction of view for the photos.

It is across Ave Maria Lane, and some open space, as the area was bombed badly during the war. To the right of the open space, you can see a a couple of buildings to the right of London House Yard, and leading between the buildings is a small street, also with the name of London House Yard.

Below the red arrow is a line of buildings along Ludgate Hill, and between the two rows of buildings, where the arrow is pointing, there is a gap, and through this gap, the view of the western entrance to St. Paul’s Cathedral is visible, as can be seen in my father’s photos.

So, I am sure that my father was taking photos behind the gates of the entrance to Stationers’ Hall, the short double lines, or in Stationers Hall Lane, to the left of the start of the red arrow in the map. But I cannot be 100% certain.

The reason I cannot be certain is that I cannot find any photos of the gates to the hall to confirm.

The best photo I have been able to find is from the London Picture Archive, and which dates from 1920 and can be seen by clicking here.

In the photo, you can just see the inner gates, and these do not appear to have the ornate ironwork as in my father’s photos.

The outer gates, presumably the ornate iron work in my father’s photos, cannot be seen as they are wide open.

So again, the location looks exactly right, with the view across to the buildings opposite, including the slight offset to where London House Yard runs between the two buildings, and the view of the cathedral through the gap between buildings, all seeming to confirm.

But as I cannot find a photo of the gates, I will leave the word “Probably” in the title of the post.

Time to have a look at Stationers’ Hall, and the hall consists of buildings on two sides of a courtyard, in front, and to the right of the following photo:

The other side of the courtyard:

To learn about the Stationers’, I turned to the book “The Armorial Bearings of the Guilds of London” by John Bromley and published in 1960, which does seem to offer one of the more comprehensive overviews of the City’s guilds and companies.

In this book, the company has the name of “The Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers”, which was the full name used from 1937 to recognise the amalgamation of the Stationers’ Company with the Company of Newspaper Makers.

Today, the Newspaper Makers wording has been dropped, and the company describes itself as “The City of London Livery Company for the Communications and Content Industries”, showing how these City institutions have continuously evolved as their trades have changed.

The word “stationer” comes from the Latin word stationarius – a stall holder as opposed to an itinerant seller of goods, and it seems that the important role of these “stationarii” in producing, lending and selling books in mediaeval universities started to limit the name to this specific trade, which also then included bookbinders, illuminators and text writers.

In 1403, Text Writers and Illuminators were united by civic ordinance into a single Guild, which is the direct ancestor of the Company of Stationers’.

On the 4th of May, 1557, the Stationers’ were incorporated by Royal Charter.

The Stationers’ have had a hall on the current site since 1606, following a move from their original, 1554 hall, a short distance away.

The hall has been rebuilt and been through a number of changes and modifications in the past 400 years. It was destroyed in the 1666 Great Fire and more recently suffered serious bomb damage in 1940, during the same raids that resulted in the cleared space seen in front of my father’s photos.

At the rear of the hall is a small garden, and a gate to the side of the hall provides access to Stationers’ Garden:

The following print from 1830 shows the entrance to the garden on the left, and the hall looking much the same as it does today:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

On the front of the hall is a memorial to liverymen of the company who lost their lives in the Great War, 1914 – 1918:

And a plaque that records one of the trades associated with the Stationers’, recording that Wynkyn de Worde set up his press in nearby Shoe Lane around the year 1500:

An ornate sign for Stationers’ Hall, with their coat of arms, hangs from the hall:

The arms of the Stationers’ Company include three clasped books, an eagle between two Tudor roses, and above a white bird, a representation of the holy spirit, and a white cloud radiating beams of light.

The arms are also displayed on wooden bollards around the courtyard:

The following view is looking from the courtyard towards St. Paul’s Cathedral. The building surrounding two sides of the courtyard, and blocking the view of the cathedral is the Club Quarters Hotel:

The walk way through the hotel, seen in the above photo, appears to be in the same location as the original exit from the courtyard to Ave Maria Lane. If I am right, it was in this walk way that my father took the photos looking through the old gates.

Walking through, and looking in the direction of the cathedral, the view is still blocked, now by the Paternoster Square development:

Looking back from Ave Maria Lane, with the entrance to the courtyard in front of Stations’ Hall, at ground level, and under the hotel. The gates in my father’s photos would have been somewhere around this entrance:

To get a view of the cathedral, I had to turn right and walk along Ave Maria Lane to Ludgate Hill, where, on the corner of the junction, I had the following view;

Compare the above view with my father’s photos, and imagine then walking to the left, back along Ave Maria Lane to where the entrance to Stationers’ Hall is located, and the alignment of the cathedral, the dome, two towers, is about right in the photos looking through the gate.

I cannot be completely certain, as I cannot find any photos of the gates with the hall behind, but the map, and the views across to the cathedral, including the gap between buildings, and the street layout, all look right.

So whilst I cannot guarantee, I can say that the gates were probably those at the entrance to Stationers’ Hall.

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Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London 1957-60

Two new dates for my walks are now available on Eventbrite. Walks, dates, and link for details and booking, here:

Bankside to Pickle Herring Street – History between the Bridges – Sunday 29th September

Limehouse – A Sink of Iniquity and Degradation – Sunday 6th October

The Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London, 1957-60 was a significant investigation into the governance of London, with a target of recommending whether any, and if so what, changes in the local government structure and distribution of local authority functions in the area, or in any part of it, would better secure effective and convenient local government.

The 1957-60 report, with some modifications led to the London Government Act 1963, which resulted in the creation of the Greater London Council in 1965, along with the formation of 32 London borough councils.

The report is an interesting read, not just for its recommendations, but also for the descriptions and statistics of London at the time of the report, the challenges facing London, how London, and the governance of the city had developed etc.

I find it fascinating how, when you explore much of London’s history, many of the themes are much the same today, and the following paragraphs from the introduction to the report could have been written today, rather than 64 years ago:

“Throughout its history London has had this astonishing quality of vitality which has shown itself in two main ways. London has constantly attracted people to itself from the outside, and it has also grown constantly from the centre outwards. These centripetal and centrifugal forces have worked at varying paces at various times; but viewed in perspective the two processes have been continuous. Both forces have been working with accelerating impetus since the year 1900 and they have never been more active than they are today.

At intervals attempts have been made to contain this growth. Sometimes the Court has tried to restrain the growing power of London. Sometimes social reformers have shaken their heads over the problems of size this growth has engendered. Nowadays restriction through planning and other controls is the order of the day. If London remains true to its historic character, it will continue to attract and to try to expand; to attract for business and residence, and to a lesser extent for industry, and to try to expand outwards as its population grows and as the demand for more spacious surroundings grows, a demand which a rising standard of living gives people the means to satisfy.

Already London is leaping over the green belt which as recently as twenty years ago was designed to contain it. Many of the problems with which we deal with in this our Report are direct reflections of the phenomena to which we have referred. The fundamental question is not ‘How can growth of London be stopped?’ but ‘How can London’s abounding vitality be guided and directed for the general good through the medium of self-government?’. The problems we have to consider are the problems of vigorous growth, the growth of a living organism which has earned a better title than the cold, ugly, and in this instance misleading term ‘conurbation’. Such a term would certainly have repelled visionaries such as William Blake whose poetry perhaps brings us nearer the truth than we should get by too exclusive adherence to the prosaic details of the machinery of government:

I behold London, a Human awful wonder of God!

He says: ‘Return, Albion, return! I give myself for thee.

My Streets are my Ideas of Imagination.

Awake Albion, awake! and let us awake up together.

My Houses are Thoughts: my Inhabitants, Affections,

The children of my thoughts walking through my blood-vessels

So spoke London, immortal Guardian! I heard in Lambeth’s shades.

In Felpham I heard and saw visions of Albion:

I write in South Moulton Street what I both see and hear

In regions of Humanity, in London’s opening streets.

The report is almost 400 pages of considerable detail, far more than I can explore in a weekly post, however one thing I can cover are the maps.

At the back of the 400 pages is a large pocket, and in the pocket are 12 maps which illustrate the report, and also provide us with a snapshot of London over 65 years ago, the proposals contained within the report, and how London had developed to the late 1950s.

Map 1 – The Review Area

The first map in the series shows, appropriately, the area covered within the review. This was the extreme boundary of what could be considered Greater London.

As will be seen in a future map, parts of the review area were excluded from the reports’ recommendations for the administrative boundaries of a Council for Greater London.

Map 2 – Proposals for Reorganisation

This map shows how the report proposed the reorganisation of London governance, with the outer boundary showing the “Area of Council for Greater London” (and with modifications, would become the Greater London Council), along with the proposed Greater London Boroughs and their population estimates in thousands:

The thick grey line from the original review area shows that the report concluded that parts to the north west, the north and a small area to the east, should not be included in a new Council for Greater London.

Map 3 – The Growth of London

This is a fascinating map as it shows how the city had grown since the year 1800, with the land area covered in the following 155 years identified by different colours to show expansion.

The map also identifies the outer boundary of the London green belt, major open spaces within the growing city, and the planned new towns, all orbiting the growing city:

Map 4 – Where Does London End?

There is no title to this map, so I have given it my own title – Where Does London End?

I suspect an often asked question, and one that is difficult to answer. London has far outgrown the original City. Over the centuries, it has expanded and consumed all the villages that once surrounded the original City of London.

Add to this complexity, there are different interpretations of London by the different authorities and service providers involved in many aspects of London governance and critical service provision, and this was the focus of the report.

The map shows these different boundaries as they were at the time of the report, and included the boundaries of, for example, the Registrar General’s Greater London Conurbation, the Metropolitan Water Board, Metropolitan Police District, London Transport Executive Area etc.:

Map 5 – Built-Up Areas 1958 and London Green Belt

This map shows “Built-up areas, which include the residential, industrial and business areas of towns, villages and other closely developed settlements, together with the educational institutions, allotments and smaller open spaces which they envelop. Large industrial and service establishments in rural areas are also included. Golf courses and most airfields are excluded. The Greenbelt is that shown in approved Development Plans at 1/1/60”:

There has been a conflict between the green belt and the need for development for as long as the green belt has existed. The 1960 report included the following in the introduction “Already London is leaping over the green belt” which demonstrates that over 60 years ago this was a problem.

The green belt featured again in the recent General Election with Labour’s proposals for more building and the possible inclusion of areas of the green belt in a building plan.

I suspect that the conflict between preserving green belt, and the need for new development and housing will be an ongoing issue for very many decades to come.

Map 6 – Population Density 1951

A colour coded map of population density as it was in 1961 is the next in the map series.

As could be expected, the map shows the highest density of people per square mile towards the centre of the city, with density reducing as you move further away from the centre.

The exception to this is with the City of London and the City of Westminster, where population density, particularly in the City of London has always been low.

Map 7 – Travel to Work into Central London

One of the impacts of the 19th century revolution in rail travel was the ability to live in the London suburbs and travel into the centre of London to work, and map 7 shows the percentage of “total occupied persons resident in each local authority area who worked in Central London in 1951”.

The definition of central London was The City of London, City of Westminster and Metropolitan Boroughs of Finsbury, Holborn and St. Marylebone.

The map shows that in 1951, the majority of travel into central London was from within the area under review, however there were significant areas to the north west (showing the impact of the Metropolitan line), and to east London, and an area to the east in south Essex from Brentwood to Southend:

Map 8 – Changes in Population and Employment

This map shows the changes in population and employment in a single decade, the 1950s.

This was an unusual decade as London was still in the process of recovering from the destruction of the Second World War, and both industry and populations were changing dramatically.

The map shows there was a decrease in population across the majority of London, but increasing population along the boundaries of Greater London.

The map also shows changes in employment, with decreasing employment in east London and to the north and south of the City, but increasing employment further out, and to the west.

The decrease in employment seems to have been more significant in the small area bounded by the City, Shoreditch, Islington and St. Pancras, with a decrease of 8,000 workers in just six years. By contrast, central London from the City of London to the City of Westminster increased employment by 136,000 workers in the same six year period.

There are large increases in employment in some of the surrounding new towns, as these start taking both jobs and people from London.

Map 9 – Classification of Service Centres

In the report, a Service Centre is a place where there is a concentration of services such as theatres, cinemas, banks and shops.

The location of these service centres was calculated using the concentration of these services as well as the analysis of bus services to identify where there were nodes that concentrated bus services as well as the banks, shops, etc. that people would want / need to travel to and use.

Map 10 – Educational Administration

The provision of education across London was a key part of the report, and the following map shows how education services were administered in 1960:

Throughout the report, there are themes and challenges which are the same now, as they were when the 1960 report was published.

The report talks about the importance of delegation of responsibility to heads of schools and teachers, the importance of Youth Services, including the Youth Employment Service and that these should be fully integrated with schools.

School Health Services were considered key, and again should be integrated with health services provided by local authorities and central government.

The report stated that “As standards of education have risen, both as to actual teaching and as to the quality and amenity of buildings, more and more subsidies from tax payers money have been needed and more and more money has had to come from the rates.”

It seems a recurring message with public services, that if you need good services you need to invest, and public services should be fully integrated to work efficiently and deliver an effective service.

Map 11 – Sewerage and Sewage Disposal

A topic which is much in the news today, but had very little commentary in the 1960 report. The report saw little further scope left for further centralisation, following the Report on Greater London Drainage in 1935, and in 1960 these services were provided by a mix of authorities, ranging from the London County Council, and various other boards within urban and rural districts, as shown by the following map:

There is no comment in the 1960 report on sewage discharges into rivers, so I have no idea whether this was a problem in the years between 1935 / 60, however today, it really is a serious problem, and for London, it happens all along the Thames.

I wrote about the London Data Store a couple of months ago, and within the vast amount of data on London available, there is an interactive map of Sewer Overflows across London.

Taking just a small section of central London, between Blackfriars and Tower Bridges, there are the following sewer overflows on the north bank of the Thames:

  • Fleet Main Line Sewer
  • Paul’s Pier
  • Goswell Street
  • London Bridge
  • Beer Lane
  • Iron Gate

When I check the map whilst writing this post, the Fleet Main Line Sewer, Paul’s Pier and Iron Gate were all recorded as “This storm overflow discharged in the last 48 hours. This means there could be sewage in this section of the watercourse.”

If you walk along the Thames foreshore, and want to touch anything, I would wear disposable gloves. If you want to check the map, it can be found here.

Map 12 – Central Areas

Map 12 shows the area that was defined as the central area of London, and the boundaries of various authorities who operated within this central area:

The report makes very little reference to infrastructure projects, which is understandable as it was a report on the governance of London, however are two specific projects which received some attention in the report.

The first was on the Narrow Street Bridge in Stepney. This was the swing bridge that carried Narrow Street over the entrance to the Regent’s Canal, now Limehouse Dock.

The bridge was 100 years old, and since the 1930s had suffered increasing amounts of damage from heavy traffic.

By 1952, the bridge was in such a bad state of repair, that it was closed to motor vehicles and horse drawn traffic. There were too many worn and rusted main girders that even after repair, it could not be operated safely without traffic limitations.

In 1955, the bridge was closed to all traffic, and during the period of closure, “vehicles carrying goods to and from the wharves and warehouses in the area, including the Regent’s Canal Dock, have had to make a detour of 2.5 miles, part of which is along a main road”.

The issue was money and who was responsible to pay for a new bridge. The bridge was owned by the British Transport Commission, but there had been discussion with the London County Council, the Ministry of Transport and Stepney Borough Council about sharing the costs of the bridge.

It seems that finally, the London County Council agreed to accept the whole liability for the additional costs of building a bridge as a special case, and at the end of 1959 approval for the work to go ahead was given.

I did not know that such a key bridge was closed for so long, when use of the docks, wharves and warehouses in the area was still considerable. Trade through the docks was still increasing in the 1950s.

The case of the Narrow Street Bridge is very similar with that today of Hammersmith Bridge, where a bridge in need of repair is closed, stays closed for a considerable period, with the issue being who covers the costs for the considerable repair work needed.

The second infrastructure project in the report was the “Cromwell Road Extension Scheme with particular reference to the Hammersmith Roundabout and Flyover”.

The report goes into some of the challenges with getting approval for the roundabout and flyover (restrictions on capital expenditure, objections by Hammersmith Borough Council etc). These were gradually overcome, with the roundabout opening in 1959 and the flyover in 1961.

Hammersmith flyover is now over 60 years old, and is the main route between central London and Heathrow, and to the west of the country via the M4, and carries around 90,000 vehicles a day.

There were concerns that it might have collapsed in 2011 due to corrosion and weakened support cables running through the structure. This required much repair work, with a second phase of repairs carried out which ended in 2015.

Around this time, there was talk of replacing the flyover with a tunnel, but this proposal does not seem to have made any progress, and would be hugely expensive and disruptive.

So the Hammersmith Flyover is gradually getting older, and at some point will become a major problem, with, no doubt, the same “what can be done” and “who pays” issues that have long been an issue with any infrastructure project across London.

The 1957-60 Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London paved the way for the creation of the Greater London Council, a body that would only last from 1965 to 1986.

The report highlights that whilst the way London is governed and administered changes over time, many of the issues and themes at the heart of London’s development, growth, provision of services, finance, and relationship with the areas of the south-east that border London, are the same today as they have always been – and I suspect, will continue to be the same for very many years to come.

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