Tag: 19th century

Does The Vulcan Hotel belong in a museum?

Post author By Boak & Bailey
Post date 11th June 2024
9 Comments on Does The Vulcan Hotel belong in a museum?

The Vulcan is a Cardiff pub that’s been relocated to a museum. Is this a good way to preserve pubs or just another way of destroying them?

The Vulcan reopened for business at St Fagans National Museum of History about a month ago, after several years of “Coming soon!” updates.

We visited on a busy Saturday expecting a sterile exhibit, based on the photos we’ve seen online. The very act of rebuilding and restoration means the building looks too neat and bright, like something from Poundbury.

In its original location it was covered in soot, urban grot, and layer upon layer of paint. It was surrounded by railings, billboards, street furniture and litter. At St Fagans, it’s all fresh bare brick and fresh country air.

We’re not the only ones with concerns. When Martin Taylor wrote about this project a while ago he said:

The Vulcan was to Cardiff what the Laurieston is to Glasgow (or the Charlie Chaplin was to the Elephant & Castle if I’m honest), that “was” telling you that the pub closed a decade ago and is still being rebuilt brick-by-brick at St Fagans, where pashminas from Cowbridge will ask what wines it sells.

On top of all that, the website suggested booking a table if you wanted to see The Vulcan and, as we approached, it looked overcrowded and oversubscribed.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we walked straight in, got two pints, found a seat, and forgot we weren’t in a ‘real’ pub for an hour or so.

Well, no, that’s not quite true. We were always aware that it wasn’t quite a proper pub. But rather than sterility, its location and status seemed to add to the fun.

The pale wood partitions between the public bar, jug and bottle and, beyond, the corridor to the smoke room.

We’d got the impression that this was going to be something like an ornate Victorian gin palace, perhaps because the exterior is richly decorated with shiny green tiles. But the public bar is actually defined by plain, light-coloured wood, and mostly plain walls decorated with the odd vintage advertisement. There is literally sawdust on the floor, to the delight of every toddler that passed through.

The smoke room at the back feels cosier, with lower light, dark green paint, and dark wood furniture. It’s really not much different from a room in a typical 21st century pub in, say, Sheffield, or Dudley.

It was constantly busy and not only with gawpers. Lots of booze was being bought and drunk and everyone was mildly merry, including us, in a realm where a mild caffeine buzz and a sugar buzz from scones is about as far as it usually goes.

We didn’t see any pashminas but there were plenty of football kits, trackie bottoms, trainers, and tattoos. There were lots of strong local accents, too. Delightfully normal. After all, St Fagans isn’t a particularly snooty museum – entry is free and you can use it like a park, if you like, and hang out all day with a picnic.

From our seat near the door we watched one person after another walk in and beam with delight, say “Wow!”, or both. And it has to be said that dads and granddads in particular seemed to be in their element.

Hard working staff at The Vulcan.

There were four bar staff on duty in vaguely historic costume and we wondered whether they were pub people with a bit of museum training, or the other way round.

They were remarkably cheerful and willing to engage in chat, and the conversation around the crowded bar went something like this:

“How long have you been open, then?”

“Four weeks today.”

“Busy?

“Very.”

“I used to drink in this pub when it was in town. I’ve come out special.”

“Aw, that’s lovely. You’re not the first old faithful we’ve had in today.”

“I see you’ve got an electric till – that’s not very authentic, is it, ha ha!”

“Well, we can’t be expected to tot it up in our heads, can we? But we’ve hidden it under the counter.”

“How long have you been open, then?”

“Four weeks today.”

“Pink nail polish – that’s not very authentic, ha ha!”

“It’s not, is it? What can I get you?”

“Do you do a normal lager?”

“We do. Pint?”

“My granny used to drink in The Vulcan years ago.”

“Aw, that’s lovely.”

“Health and safety notices – they’re not very authentic, are they, ha ha!”

“We’ve had to make a few compromises, unfortunately.”

“I wanted to show my son where I used to drink when he was little.”

“Aw, that’s lovely.”

“Where did this pub used to be, then?”

“Adam Street.”

“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”

“Well, some of the spirits are 43%, but you probably want the pale ale.”

“Is the ale real, or fizz?”

“This is real ale on the pumps.”

“Lager – that’s not very authentic, ha ha!”

“Well, we do hide it under the counter.”

Looking at the barman in the flatcap Ray growled under his breath: “I bet this will attract Peaky Blinders wankers.”

“To a museum? Nah,” said Jess.

Then, a few minutes later we overheard one of the staff said: “You can hire it out for private events. We’ve got a Peaky Blinders theme thing happening soon…”

The other thing that’s great about the new location is the additional context it brings. Right across the road is the Oakdale Workmen’s Institute, built in 1916 and relocated to St Fagan’s in 1995.

It was intended as an antidote to places like The Vulcan, with libraries, reading rooms, and space for edifying concerts.

If you want to understand the evolution of the pub in the early part of the 20th century, you can do worse than hop between the two.

Will the staff at The Vulcan still be cheerful after a long, hectic summer season, we wonder? And will the pub still be as busy once those curious to see an old haunt in a new location have done so? We’ll have to go back in a year or so to find out.

Seeing how much booze this museum exhibit was selling, and how happy it made people, made us wonder whether more pubs could consider the heritage angle.

We know we’re weird – we know – but we’d certainly be interested in drinking in historic pubs that have been made over to feel historic. Rather, that is, than painted bloody grey.

Tags 19th century, cardiff, edwardian, victorian

Beer history london pubs

The best London pubs of 1850

Post author By Boak & Bailey
Post date 15th September 2023
4 Comments on The best London pubs of 1850

If your unreliable TARDIS dumped you in London in 1850, where would you go for a pint?

We’ve come across an old guide book that, for once, gives a straight answer.

Peter Cunningham’s Handbook of London was first published in two volumes in 1849, then condensed into a single volume in 1850.

First, it recommends hotels, including:

“…among the old inns, the Golden Cross, at Charing-cross, and Gerard’s Hall Inn, Bread-street, Cheapside.”

The beer and wine vaults at Gerard’s Hall via the Yale Center for British Art.

Gerard’s Hall Inn sounds fascinating – might we, through 21st century eyes, think of it as a pub?

It doesn’t quite feel like it from what we’ve been able to read. But you certainly get a pint there.

What really interested us was a section titled ‘Breweries and Beer in London’.

First, the author first lists great breweries:

Barclay Perkins, Southwark
Meux, Tottenham Court Road
Combe Delafield, Long Acre
Whitbread, Chiswell Street
Truman, Hanbury & Buxton, Brick Lane
Goding, Lambeth
Reid, Liquorpond Street (!)
Calvert, Upper Thames Street
Elliot, Pimlico

He adds this suggestion:

“The visitor should exert his influence among his friends to obtain an order of admission to any one of the largest I have named.”

Brewers, how would you feel about a bunch of top-hatted toffs turning up at your premises for a nose around?

Then, finally, we get a list of four pubs.

Two are suggested for the “best London porter and stout in draught”:

Cock Tavern, Fleet Street
The Rainbow Tavern, opposite

And two more are those which “Judges of ale recommend”:

John O’Groats, Rupert Street
The Edinburgh Castle, Strand

The latter was famous as the founding place of Punch magazine.

Of the four, only The Cock survives.

You could go there for a pint this weekend if you wanted, although whether you’ll find any draught porter is hard to say.

Tags 19th century, victorian

london pubs

The Star of the East – a surviving Limehouse gin palace

Post author By Boak & Bailey
Post date 13th August 2022
1 Comment on The Star of the East – a surviving Limehouse gin palace

The Star of the East is a 19th century pub which not only exists, and trades, but continues to take up more than its fair share of space in the world.

We noticed it one morning last week while walking from digs to our respective temporary offices in the City of London.

When we say ‘noticed’ we mean that it stopped us in our tracks from a couple of hundred metres away.

Gin palaces were designed to stand out, dazzle and entice. This one, with its carved marble frontage and three great iron lamps embedded in the pavement, still does so.

Passing it again after dark, from aboard a bus, it looked even more spectacular. Those three lamps still work, and the pub’s great glass windows still glow.

The lamps outside the pub.

Short on time, we didn’t make it into the pub for a drink this time, but certainly will at some point soon.

In the meantime, we turned to the usual reference books – Mark Girouard, Ben Davis, Brian Spiller and so on.

The only mention of this particular pub we could find, however, was in Licensed to Sell by Brandwood et al, which touches on it in two places:

A reference to its unusual Gothic style in a section on Victorian pubs.
Noting the persistence of its mid-pavement lamps.

That latter says:

“Light fittings were important in creating the presence and character of a pub. Large gas lamps illuminated the exterior of the grander establishments and some even had standard lamps rising from the pavement, such as still survive in front of the Star of the East, Limehouse, London… In darkly lit streets, or often ones that were not lit at all, such lamps must have made the pub look all the more inviting.”

The main point is, though, that this wasn’t really a gin palace after all.

It dates from the 1860s, not the 1830s.

In that later period, many pubs were built borrowing features from the earlier gin palaces but with no particular emphasis on gin, and much more on beer.

In fact, in a couple of newspaper stories about trouble at the pub, it’s called a ‘beershop’ and ‘beerhouse’:

“John Day and John Copeland were charged, the former with assaulting two girls named Regan and Donovan in the ‘Star of the East’ beershop, Limehouse, and the latter with attempting to rescue Day from custody.”
East London Observer, 10 March 1877

“EAST END RUFFIANISM.– Thomas Barrett and William Shannon, two rough-looking fellows, were charged with violently assaulting Hicks… Both prisoners have been convicted of violence, and a short time ago Barrett was charged with being concerned with others in assaulting and intimidating a fellow workman. On Friday night they entered the ‘Star of the East’ beerhouse, Commercial-road, Limehouse, in a state of intoxication, and because their demand to be served with liquor was refused, owing to their condition, they created a disturbance, and refused to quit. Hicks was called to eject them, and on getting them outside they both attacked him. They threw him twice violently to the ground, and Shannon kicked him brutally in the side, from the effects of which he still suffered. Another constable came to his assistance, and after a deal of trouble they got the prisoners to the station.”
Illustrated Police News, 16 April 1881

The newspaper archives also turn up numerous references to inquests being held at The Star of the East, suggesting that it was a notable local building with enough space to serve this kind of public function.

The best story about this pub, though, has a whiff of the Gothic about it, or of a Sherlock Holmes story:

“There is now to be seen at the Star of the East,’ opposite Limehouse church, a very curious mummy, a female, stated by medical men to be about 18 years of age, hair, teeth, and nails perfect, and – what seems most unique – the hair plaited in folds, over two thousand years ago. Mr. H.W. Baxter, proprietor of the Star of the East, who has purchased it for a considerable sum, affords every facility to visitors, already numbering some thousands and daily increasing. It was first landed Bullhead-wharf, and visited many in Essex, who will be glad to know its whereabouts.”
Chelmsford Chronicle, 10 May 1878

Sadly, another notable pub nearby that we had hoped to visit, The Festival Inn, is now tinned up.

Let’s hope it gets a new lease of life, like The Star of the East, as gentrification creeps into Chrisp Sreet.

UPDATE 18/08/2022: Despite the tin sheets on the doors and general air of abandonment The Festival is apparently still trading. Thanks to John Cryne for this intel via a local contact.

Tags 19th century, east end, gin palaces, victorian

Beer history pubs

When did pub crawls become a thing?

Post author By Boak & Bailey
Post date 18th February 2022
7 Comments on When did pub crawls become a thing?

We use the phrase ‘pub crawl’ all the time but recently found ourselves wondering when it emerged as a concept.

Helpfully, the Oxford English Dictionary (which we can access in full online for free with one of our library memberships) offers an immediate answer: it’s a late Victorian and Edwardian thing.

Here are some selected entries from the list of examples provided by the OED in its entry for ‘pub-crawling’, under ‘Crawling’:

1877 | York Herald | women on ‘gin crawls’
1902 | Daily Chronicle | “the cockney ‘beer crawl’”
1915 | Nights in Town by Thomas Burke | “We did a ‘pub-crawl’ in Commercial Road”

The entry for ‘pub crawl’ under ‘Pub’ is oddly less comprehensive, omitting anything before that 1915 entry.

This all makes sense.

For a pub crawl, you need a certain concentration of pubs, which means you need a substantial town and city.

For pub crawling to become a commonly understood idea you need lots of substantial towns and cities.

And the 19th century was when British towns and cities exploded in size. Consider Bradford, for example, to pick somewhere at random. In 1801 its population was around 6,000. By 1850 it had grown to 182,000.

At the same time, the number of pubs increased.

We’re glad we chose Bradford, now we think of it, because that means we can check Paul Jennings’s book The Public House in Bradford 1770-1970 for stats.

In 1803, there were 41 public houses in Bradford. By 1830 there were 55 – and then a load of beerhouses came along, too, after the passing of an 1830 act of Parliament. By 1850, there were 178 of those, as well as a number of established public houses.

With around 220 boozers, give or take, you’ve got some options for a crawl.

Are there earlier mentions of pub crawls than the OED lists?

Beating the OED at its own games is a bit of a sport in the age of the digitised newspaper and book archive.

Whereas the dictionary compilers spent years scanning periodicals and recording usage, we can just run a ton of searches and see what can be dredged up.

On this occasion, though, we couldn’t find any earlier examples of:

pub crawl, crawler or crawling
beer crawl, etc.
gin crawl, etc.

We did, however, like this description of a gin crawl from Fun magazine (a Punch knockoff) for 9 July 1879:

The Lancet seems to think that lime-juice will be the drink of the future. Possibly; but we should like to see the hansom cabby, the purple-faced “bus driver, and 92 X “splicing the main-brace” with a glass of lime-juice and water. The favourite pastime of some of these gentry on their off-days is to go for what they term a two-of-gin crawl, which means flitting from pab to pub until sufficient moisture is imbibed. We wonder if the day will ever arrive when they will indulge in “a two-of-lime-juice crawl.”

There’s more to be said about pub crawls. We’ll be digging at this a bit more in subsequent posts.

Tags 19th century, Beer history, language, victorian

pubs

The exploitation of publicans, 1838

Post author By Boak & Bailey
Post date 9th December 2021

Publicans often find themselves at the mercy of the aggressive business practices of breweries, pubcos and landlords – and that’s apparently been the case more-or-less since the modern pub came into being.

Continuing to dig around in the archives for information on 19th century gin palaces we came across a wonderful letter to the editor of the London Weekly Dispatch from 6 May 1838. It is entitled ‘On Buying A Gin Palace’ and opens like this:

An advertisement appeared in a Morning Journal a few days since, and if you will permit me to make a few observations upon it, you may perhaps save many inexperienced persons from being victimised.

The author, ‘S.J.M., late Mincing Lane’, goes on to quote the advertisement in full:

A first-rate gin-shop to be sold for £3,500, situated in a leading thoroughfare. It was fitted up regardless of expense, three years ago, and is held on lease for an unexpired term of 25 years. Trade, wholesale and retail, £4,500 per annum at a profit of 23 per cent. Any person unacquainted with the trade may be initiated by the party quitting. A person with £1,300, his own money, may be accommodated with the rest. Apply by letter, to A. B.

We tried to find the original of this advertisement but it doesn’t seem to be available online. We did, however, find quite a few from the same period using very similar language. Here are a couple:

Morning Advertiser, 18 August 1838. SOURCE: The British Newspaper Archive.

Morning Advertiser, 5 July 1838. SOURCE: Ibid.

S.J.M. wanted to blow the lid on some of the tricks and tactics behind these ads which they called a “barefaced attempt at swindling”:

I do say, and with the experience of more than a quarter of a century, that a more shameful robbery could not be planned than is meditated by the unknown authors of this advertisement. The highwayman that robs at noon-day, or the burglar at night, is less culpable than these swindling rascals, who plunder the unwary by wholesale with impunity, under the mask of being principal houses in the trade. A robber risks his life or liberty, and if even he escapes detection, the parties robbed have still other resources left them wherewith to replenish; but this motorious tribe of plunderers commonly effect the total destruction of their victim.

Their analysis of the advertisement breaks it down in detail; we’ve added a few line breaks to make it easier to digest:

“A first-rate gin-shop situated in a leading thoroughfare.” Now if all that is meant were honest, as the house is not described, why not name the street? I will give the true reason: because if the street were named, the house most probably would be known, and some of its former victims would soon spread the fame of its swindling owners and occupiers…
“Fitted up regardless of expense,” as if all the outlay were not included in the amount demanded for the lease. Fudge! But the reader will see through this as he proceeds. Next, “trade wholesale and retail, £4,500 per annum.” Note the words “wholesale and retail,” as if gin shops generally had a shadow of what is in reality a wholesale trade, particularly when considered with the next allegation, “at a profit of 23 per cent.”
Now, to all that have more money than understanding (for it is to such alone this advertisement is addressed, and all others must see through the villainy at the first glance), the reason the wholesale department is coupled with the retail, is to prevent the fresh-caught victim from complaining; for if he should not in the first ten months realize over the counter £500, instead of £4,500, he could not proceed by action to recover his outlay for the false representation by which he has been deluded, as the rogue could say, he had not remained a year in the house, and perhaps the last month or two would have brought the wholesale connexion to town.

The really juicy stuff is around the buying price, however, where S.J.M argues a particularly nasty trick is being played.

First, that value of £3,500 is established – out of the reach of most people. And, S.J.M. suggests, basically a fiction.

But then, when the seller suggests that, actually, you only need £1,300 to buy your way in, it sounds like a bargain. They, or someone, will then cover the rest of the purchase price. “So then”, S.J.M. says, “the novice, male or female, widow or orphan, is invited by these heartless villains, if they have but £1,300 in the world…”

This suddenly sounds a lot like Charles Dickens explaining the London waste trade in Our Mutual Friend, or the operation of the legal system in Bleak House, and makes us wish he’d tackled brewing, breweries and pubs in the same depth.

It also echoes the conversation around pubs in the 21st century – that rents are kept enticingly low to lure people who can then be exploited in other ways.

From the 1830s, to the 1980s, to today, does anything ever change?

Main image: illustration by George Cruikshank from 1833 via the British Museum.

Tags 19th century, gin palaces, victorian