As usual
the great Dr Johnson hit the nail on the head:
Sir; there
is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is
produced as by a good tavern or inn.
In my 72 years, many days have been spent in a variety of
pubs; I do not regard any part of this time as misspent. Pubs are incomparable
meeting places to relax convivially with family or friends, to loosen up with a
pint or two of beer after a heavy day and to shoo away the cares of the world.
Let me first celebrate a handful of London pubs I have
enjoyed. Following in the steps of Dr
Johnson I enter Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, 145 Fleet Street, a few paces from his
house in Gough Square where he laboured on his Dictionary. The pub is dark but
atmospheric and the clientele are a mixture of tourists on a pilgrimage and
local office workers. No lexicographers or newspapermen these days!
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| Johnson's Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese |
The City in my time was the venue for some serious drinking
and, working in Cornhill, we tumbled out of the office and rushed to the
historic Jamaica Inn, St Michael’s Alley, EC3 (aka The Jampot) and
slaked our thirst in unbuttoned fashion.
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| The Jamaica |
A few steps further took you to Mr Pickwick’s George
and Vulture where, if you were flush, you had a traditional lunch of
mixed grill with bubble and squeak washed down by a pint of bitter in a pewter
pot supplemented by biscuits and napkin-wrapped Stilton and a sinful glass of
port. Ecstasy!
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| Upstairs dining at The George and Vulture |
Now City drinking is often done in poncey wine-bars, usually
converted bank branches with high ceilings and higher prices. I prefer the
old-style pubs, sometimes with sawdust on the floor. I still have reunions with
my old friends and colleagues at just such an establishment Bangers
in Wilson Street, EC2.
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| Bangers in the City |
Overflowing jugs of bitter are conjured up, delicious
sandwiches and vol-au-vents served,
while we joke and reminisce about earlier times. Long may we do so, until we
finally croak.
The West End has dozens of decent neighbourhood pubs but
many of the central pubs are aimed at the casual visitor. I enjoy the Victorian
survivals like The Salisbury, 90, St Martins Lane WC2, with etched glass frontage,
polished mahogany fittings and excellent cask ale. The Salisbury has a fair
sprinkling of gay Thespian customers who add to its Bohemian atmosphere.
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| The Salisbury, Theatreland |
Staying with Central London I also appreciate the
straight-forward merits of The Gunmakers, Aybrook Street, W1,
parallel to much visited Marylebone High Street, an oasis of normality where I
can sink a pint or two, read my newspaper and watch some football or rugby on
the TV screens, agog with the fluctuating fortunes of Arsenal or Scotland.
My introduction to London pubs dates from my Oxford
undergraduate days over 50 years ago. Maybe 5 or 6 of us would descend on
London and we would often follow a pub route North. Our first stop was the
long-established Sir Richard Steele in Chalk Farm at the bottom of Haverstock
Hill. I cannot remember the particular attraction (maybe there was a pretty
barmaid) but it is still going strong and pulling in the punters. We then moved
up to Hampstead High Street and The King of Bohemia, a cosy establishment with comfortable leather upholstered bay window
seating. But just look at what has
happened! Like hundreds of other pubs it was sold (in 2003) and redeveloped and
is now a retail outlet, lost forever to the drinking classes, a sad fate indeed.
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| Once The King of Bohemia |
Our final undergraduate destination was The Spaniards, Spaniards
Road, NW3, long an institution and linked to legendary 18th century
highwayman Dick Turpin, bordering lovely Hampstead Heath. Its large beer garden
was a powerful attraction. The interior is oaken and traditional: in winter a
welcoming blazing log fire warms you up. We used to eat single hot sausages but
now the menu is much grander, far beyond undergraduate pockets. When I lived
nearby for over 25 years, we walked with the children from the Heath Extension
through Sandy Wood and ate snacks in the sunny garden. The children loved the
collection of caged canaries and budgies, now all gone. The Spaniards is the
kind of pub where you strike up conversations with complete strangers in the
agreeably civilised English way. It is an unrivalled amenity for the affluent
burghers of Hampstead and Highgate.
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| The beer garden at The Spaniards |
My last pub is only just in London in the Mansion Tax
environs of Totteridge. Deep in wooded splendour with its pond and outside
seating stands The Orange Tree, Totteridge Village, N20 much patronised by the locals but also a destination gastro-pub,
serving oysters, fresh fish, Sunday roasts and such luxuries.
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| The Orange Tree, Totteridge |
This spacious pub is a venue for reunions, family outings
and peaceful summer imbibing.
I hope this piece, skimming through a personal selection of
pubs, introduces to some and reminds others of the gentle pleasures of pub-going.
SMD
7.11.14
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2014
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