Ep 36 Mayfair Pubs Pt3 - The Clarence, The Goat Tavern, The Burlington Arms, The Mason's Arms, The Iron Duke

In this 3rd episode on Mayfair, we pop into The Clarence, The Goat, The Burlington and Mason’s Arms and finally The Iron Duke, all on the eastern edge of the district

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Google map with pubs covered in previous episodes pinned, courtesy of Andy Meddick:

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/4/edit?mid=12c-WKa3XiT1qTLydK8psZocUR7Y_Wes&usp=sharing

Or TinyURL: https://tinyurl.com/bduca5dv

The following resources are referenced or quoted frequently in these episodes:

• Ted Bruning  -- Historic Pubs of London (ISBN 978-0658005022) and London By Pub (ISBN 978-0658005022)
• Wikipedia
• https://londonspubswherehistoryreallyhappened.wordpress.com/  by Ann Laffeaty 

Additionally, the  following resource(s) were used / quoted in this episode

The Clarence: https://camra.org.uk/pubs/clarence-london-128752

The Goat:

https://whatpub.com/pubs/WLD/16093/goat-tavern-london

James Potts & Sam Cullen, What’s in a London Pub Name? (ISBN 9781854144713)

 https://alondoninheritance.com/londonpubs/goat-tavern-stafford-street/

The Burlington Arms:

https://camra.org.uk/pubs/burlington-arms-london-129217

https://pubwiki.co.uk/LondonPubs/Westminster/BurlingtonArms.shtml

https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/essays-and-other-works/the-moon-under-water/

https://futurefamilyoffice.net/news/gloucester-circus-the-family-office-that-duped-londons-vc-scene/ 

The Mason’s Arms:

https://pubwiki.co.uk/LondonPubs/StGeorgeHanoverSquare/MasonsArms.shtml

https://londonpubsgroup.camra.org.uk/viewnode.php?id=27890

https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/

Stones Photos: https://www.instagram.com/brianjonessatisfaction/p/C8OQJyasmF_/?hl=en&img_index=1

The Iron Duke:

James Potts & Sam Cullen, What’s in a London Pub Name? (ISBN 9781854144713)

https://londonpubsgroup.camra.org.uk/viewnode.php?id=27890

https://pubwiki.co.uk/LondonPubs//StGeorgeHanoverSquare/AveryRow11.shtml

https://londonist.com/pubs/pubs/pubs/the-iron-duke

Intro Music:  Vivaldi - Spring Allegro by John Harrison w/ the Wichita State University Chamber Orch.

Photo:  Ewan Munro

Website: https://historiclondonpubcast.com/

E-mail: hosteric@historiclondonpubcast.com

Chapters

• 0:00 Introduction to Historic London Pubcast
• 0:24 The AALP Framework Explained
• 1:09 Final Invitation and Availability

Transcript

Welcome to this episode of The Historic London Pubcast. I'm Eric Blair, and I'd like to take you on a journey through the rich history of London's iconic pubs. My goal is to share with you my passion for the great old pubs of London. I want to give you some facts to help you appreciate the history of these hallowed establishments mixed in with some fun stories that make it all go down as smooth as a well poured pint.

This is our third episode on Mayfair, and we'll cover pubs that are on the eastern edge of the district, just west of Regent Street, north of Piccadilly, and south of Oxford Street. Today's pubs are all historic in terms of their Antiquity, and largely stay true to the Victorian roots in terms of Architecture, but I don't have a lot of stories about what went on inside these pubs over the years, but all of them have the three Ls of real estate - Location, Location, Location, and consequently have some really great neighbors. They've all been around for the best part of 200 years, so it's pretty good to assume that they attracted some of these well-known folks. I guess you could say these pubs are known for the neighbors they keep. Let's start with The Clarence on Dover Street. In London. There are four pubs operating today named The Clarence. Down from five when one at Clapham closed in 2012. Sorry to mention that it's so sad to talk about a pub closing. Okay, back to our Clarence on Dover Street. The namesake of the pub is a Duke of Clarence who later became King William the Fourth, and hey, what's going on? There are six pubs in London named after William the Fourth adding in the Clarence pubs. This guy is the namesake of ten London pubs! I talk a little bit about him when we covered The King William IV pub in Hampstead, and in that episode I wondered why anyone would name even one after him? He had a brief reign of only seven years, left no heirs, and the best you could say was that he teed things up for his niece to take over, and she did pretty well. What was her name again? Oh, yeah. Victoria! But does that deserve ten pubs named after you? 

Well, I missed one thing about Willie for his time. Just weeks after he took the throne, The Beer House Act of 1830, commonly just called The Beer Act, was passed. Its intent was to combat the consumption of Gin, which the powers that be saw as having become out of control, resulting in too much public drunkenness and its associated problems.

Beer was viewed as a more wholesome alternative. So, what did The Beer Act do? It allowed any tenant or owner of a property to open a beer house after paying just a small fee to the local authorities, by passing the traditional licensing system, which had been tightly controlled by Magistrates and the major brewers. King William quickly became the symbol of liberation and good cheer to the working classes and small entrepreneurs who could now open their establishments. Naming a pub after him honored the Monarch associated with this new era of affordable beer and entrepreneurial opportunity. All right, King Will Four, we'll drink to you. The Clarence was around long before the beer act. CAMRA clue us in, 

“Licensed in 1724 as The Coach and Horses and rebuilt in 1892. In 1953, the pub website references The Duke of Clarence, who became King William the Fourth in 1830. Although the sign outside shows a later Duke, the first-born son of the future King Edward the Seventh, this was Albert Victor, who died in his 20s and hence did not succeed his father. The pub's smallest frontage lays a much larger area extending back. It has a very convivial atmosphere after its refurbishment in 2012, with a pleasant, quieter bar upstairs.”

Thank you, CAMRA. This is a Nicholson's pub. Well run, nice atmosphere, and the larger back section helps reduce crowding. Good place to pop in for a pint. Now let's see who might also have had that idea. Frederic Chopin lived at 48 Dover Street when he first came to London in April 1848, fleeing all the revolution, upheaval in Paris and accepting an invitation from a British student. He stayed there until October, then moving a little south to Saint James Place. He returned to Paris at the end of the year and succumbed to his battle with consumption in the following year. Although he had health issues all through his stay in London, he was traveling and performing up to the time he left, so maybe he felt well enough to take in a pint at his local. I hope so. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, the noted American Jurist, stayed at 17 Dover Street in 1884 on his visit to London. Perhaps he came in, but there was a guy who lived a while on Dover Street, about three minutes’ walk north at 28 Dover Street, and later next door at 29 Dover Street. This guy was John Nash. Nash, who lived from 1752 to 1835, was one of the most influential Architects and Urban Planners in London's history, particularly under the patronage of George IV.

His vision helped transform London into a grand imperial capital, blending classical elegance with sweeping urban design. Nash is best known for masterminding Regent Street and Regent's Park, creating a harmonious cityscape that combined residential, commercial and recreational spaces, a radical concept at the time. His work integrated picturesque ideals with neo classical grandeur, setting a template for modern urban planning.

Nash also left his mark with iconic buildings such as Marble Arch, Carlton House Terrace and the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, a work that showcases his flair for the exotic and theatrical. His reconstruction of Buckingham House into Buckingham Palace further anchored his legacy in Britain's royal and architectural heritage. Nash's sweeping boulevards curved, terraced civic vision gave London not just functionality, but drama and enduring elegance that still defines much of the city's West End.

In June 1797, he moved into 28 Dover Street, a building he designed himself. The following year, he constructed a larger house next door at 29 Dover Street and relocated there in 1798. By 1892 he was on to other places, but that should have been long enough to have stopped by in what was then called the coaching horses down the street at least once.

One other famous name is sometimes associated with Dover Street, and that is Alexander Graham Bell, generally credited as the inventor of the telephone. I sense a lot of legend associated with this Dover Street claim, so take it for what it's worth. Here it is. The first telephone call in the UK, or anywhere else in Europe, was made on Dover Street by Alexander Graham Bell.

Bell was staying at Brown's Hotel, an upscale hotel over on Albemarle Street that has long been popular with famous folks. Most sources rely on the hotel's official history, which was published in the 1960s. This is the basic story it tells. In 1876, Bell set up his apparatus at the hotel front desk and used existing telegraph line to make a call to the house of the hotel's Owner, James John Ford, at Raven's Court Park, some five miles away.

He had to wait until the early hours of the morning, when there was minimal interference from normal telegraph traffic, but it was deemed to have. Listeners with a passion for details might ask, but the hotel's over on Albemarle Street. How does Dover Street get this bragging right? Well, Wiki tells us that the hotel was founded in 1832 at 23 Dover Street and grew piecemeal over the years.

At some point changing its entrance to the street a block over Albemarle. So, Dover Street's claim may indeed have some validity. Like I said, lots of legend mixed in here, and maybe even with some facts. But I can tell you this today it's possible to make a telephone call from the front desk of Brown's Hotel  over to Raven's Court Park.

So, all of that did get worked out at some point. 

Okay, let's take a walk. Two minutes, one right turn, and we come to The Goat Tavern on Stafford Street, which is just across from The King's Head pub that we covered in the Mayfair One Episode.

CAMRA gives us a nice thumbnail history,

“Licensed in 1688, The Goat is on the site of the former Clarendon House, home of the Lord Chancellor, to Charles the Second. The freeholder,”

In other words, the landowner, 

“Matthew Tomlinson, in his 1735, will bequeath the annual sum for his rental from the site to be directed for clothing poor men and women of adjacent parishes, and this continued for more than 200 years. Former customers include Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton, the latter of whom lived nearby. Carrying on the naval tradition in the Edwardian era. The smoking room upstairs was a favorite rendezvous for senior naval officers. Rebuilt in 1958. Now this is a small pub with a goat effigy on the front and additional seating upstairs.”

 Thanks, CAMRA. We learned a bit about Lady Hamilton in the Hampstead One Episode, when we checked out the former digs of George Romney, the Painter obsessed with my lady. So, this is where she went with one of the other men obsessed with her. Nice. 

So, what's with the name? The Goat? What do you think? Greatest Of All Time? A tribute to the area's agricultural past? A humorous reference to going to the pub as a booby prize? All good guesses, but no. Messrs. Potts and Collins book on pub names (see the notes) says, 

“The name is thought to be linked to the Worshipful Company of Cordwainers, a city Livery company covering those working in the leather trade and whose coat of arms contained a white goat.” 

Wow, I didn't see that one coming! I've got some stuff to look up. First, what is a livery company? Wiki. It's,

“A type of guild or professional association with origins going back to medieval times. Livery companies comprised London's ancient and modern trade associations and guilds. Names are typically styled, “The Worshipful Company of…” and then their trade or profession. The term Cordwainer in this company's name refers to the white leather produced from goatskin in Cordoba, Spain, and therefore a goat is prominent in their coat of arms. All fine leather makers were originally classified as Cordwainers. However, the term eventually came to refer to only those who made fine leather footwear, including boots. They go way back. Cordwainers receive the right to regulate city trade of their goods in 1272 and obtained a Royal Charter of Incorporation in 1439. The status of the company as a trade association has lessened over the years. The company is now, as are most Livery companies, a charitable body.”

Remember the CAMRA summary that I read in the intro? It told us that The Goat was a favorite for Naval officers. The history buff, who is behind the very well-done site alondoninheritance.com, gives us some additional information on this aspect of the pub's history, 

“The pub was a meeting place, an unofficial club for naval officers. Meeting at the pub was banned during the First World War, as the authorities were concerned that naval officers meeting in the London pub would divulge operational details, putting ships and sailors at risk of enemy action. There's a reference to this in a publication called The Bystander from the 7th of April, 1937, “In 1915, when the Admiralty prohibited Naval officers in uniform from visiting licensed premises, the lady of the Goat Tavern in Stafford Street, Piccadilly, known to all and admired by every ward and gun room in the entire Navy, as ‘Bobby’ wrote to their lordships asking if she might inform our club to keep, “My huge family together.” Their lordships gracefully bowed to the lady's wishes, and The Goat Club started in Regent Street to the great content of the 2000 officers of His Majesty's ships of war, and undoubtedly to the great vexing of an almost equal number of enemy spies.”” 

The history buff concludes with this,

“Remarkable to imagine that this pub, tucked away in the north of Piccadilly, was once known throughout the Navy and with officers meeting in the pub and enemy spies trying to discover Naval secrets from drunken sailors.”

As a bit of trivia, a commentator to this article in alondoninheritance.com said he worked part time at The Goat in the mid-1960s and Vidal Sassoon, the well-known hairstyling entrepreneur, was a regular customer. The Goat has a true crime aspect to its history as well. A serial killer was once a patron. If this is not your thing, you can fast forward two minutes and skip over this tale.

It was at The Goat that in 1944, a man named John Haigh happened to cross paths with an old acquaintance, William McSwain, a man for whom he'd once worked. The reunion was amiable, and McSwain even introduced Haigh to his parents, Donald and Amy. The McSwains had built a modest but comfortable life, collecting rents on their London properties, a lifestyle Haigh observed, with more than just a passing interest.

Not long after that meeting, in September of that year, William McSwain vanished. Haigh would later confess that he had orchestrated the disappearance. Drawing McSwain to a property on Gloucester Road where he met a grim end by blunt force trauma. Haigh then disposed of the body in a grisly manner. Let me just say that the press would come to call him, “The Acid Bath Killer.” Haigh explained to the McSwains that their son had fled to Scotland to avoid wartime conscription, a plausible tale given the times. Gaining their trust, he began to manage their affairs and even move into their son's residence, but as the war drew to a close, and still no word came from William, the McSwains grew concerned. In the summer of 1945, he invited them to Gloucester Road, promising a reunion with their son. They too would never be seen again.

Haigh’s crime spree continued, claiming three more victims, all done in for their money, until he was arrested in 1949. He was quickly tried and convicted. Receiving a sentence of death when offered a Brandy just before his execution, Haigh’s reply was, 

“Make it a large one.”

Oh, boy! Okay. True crime fans, that's the story. Now all that happened almost a century ago. So don't let it put you off this really nice pub, and it's not just me saying that. Pub Blogger Ann Lafferty ends her write up with the following comment, 

“The long, narrow interior of The Goat has been smartened up with contemporary colors and bright lights that somehow detract from its pubbiness, but the decor is pleasant enough and the pub is definitely worth a visit.”

Okay, so off we go out the door left and a five-minute walk north to The Burlington Arms, appropriately located on Old Burlington Street, Number 21 to be exact. Although some sources say that this pub goes back to 1720, british-history.ac.co.uk presents records that indicate that the place was a stable area, with the land owned by the Duke of Devonshire l leased out to several fellows who probably just used it as a stable. Wording of the lease in 1780 indicates that a tavern on the site could have been part of the deal, as well as the stable. By 1793, it was a sure thing. Then leaseholder Thomas Hodge had a licensed tavern going called The Burlington Arms. Then there was a rebuild in 1882 that provides our current pub. Somewhere along the lines, the name diverted to Burlington Bertie's. That was the name the pub in pictures snapped in the ‘70s carried, but somehow it got back to its historic name, and that's what we know it as today. 

CAMRA tells us,

“The main bar room is on the ground floor. The first floor is used as a restaurant at lunch time and a function room or bar in the evenings.” 

And they had interesting tidbit about what you’ll find when you order, 

“Draft beers are served in handles, unless you stipulate a straight.” 

Wow, that would make George Orwell happy! The Moon Under Water, his idea of a perfect pub, as described in his 1946 essay in the Evening Standard, includes this line, 

“They are particular about their drinking vessels at The Moon Under Water, and never, for example, make the mistake of serving a pint of beer in a handless glass.”

Historical information on pubwiki.co.uk indicates that after the rebuild of the 1780, was the time the pub took its current name, The Burlington Arms. I couldn't find when the renaming to Burlington Birdies came or went, but a photo shows that it carried that name in the 1970s. The interior is traditional Victorian. It gets a lot of love in the reviews, with one commentator summing up with what, to my mind, is about the best compliment you can offer,

“The pub is a proper old London pub and is absolutely stunning.”

If you get the sense that a bit of air of mystery is about when you enter, maybe it's because some mysterious people are associated with the pubs. Okay, pull your collar up on your trench coat and move in a bit closer. It's said that the community of private British spies traditionally hold their happy hour at The Burlington Arms,  so much so that it's sometimes referred to as, “The Private Investigators Pub.”

The firm, Kroll’s, used to have their offices close to the pub. They are now known as K2 Integrity, with offices a ten-minute walk away, but are said to still hold the pub in high regard, as do other private security firms in the area. Hey, keep this on the lowdown. If I told you more, I'd have to, well, you know. 

There's another patron that adds a bit of mystery to the place. This fellow is named Ian Slater. An article from late last year on futurefamilyoffice.net gives us a summary. I'll throw in a couple of term explanations along the way, 

“For months, VCs (that's Venture Capitalists), Family Offices (those are wealth management advisory firms that serve ultra-high net worth individuals and families), and Lawyers believe Ian Slater, a charismatic British “Billionaire,” was their gateway to much needed capital.” 

The reality turned out to be far murkier. Throughout early 2024, Slater could often be found at The Burlington Arms pub in Mayfair, surrounded by eager VCs drawn to his larger-than-life persona. At around 50 years old, Slater claimed he had inherited billions after his father sold an engineering firm to Caterpillar in the ‘90s through his family office, Gloucester Circus, he promised millions in investments at the time when fundraising was particularly tough. However, while the individuals Slater interacted with were legitimate, his financial promises were not. Five VC firms told Sifted, an industry newsletter, that Slater pledged multi-million pound investments that never materialized. Despite conducting professional level due diligence on funds, even reaching out to suspiciously high number of LPs, Slater would later deny his commitments, often responding with anger and disappearing altogether.

Okay, so there is considerable question about Mr. Slater's veracity. He may not be frequenting The Burlington Arms much these days. An unidentified investor was quoted as saying,

“He's been banished from Mayfair!’

Whoa! What a sad fate! Okay. Off again. Goodbye, Burlington Arms. Hello, Mason's Arms, a three-minute walk away. As we've seen with other pubs having common names, The Mason’s Arms we are going to has to be qualified with this location as a subtitle, “Mayfair.” There are at least four pubs in London and two additional pubs elsewhere in the UK, named The Mason’s Arms. 

pubwiki.co.uk is a good source of history for this pub, 

“Said to have been established in 1721, it was rebuilt in its current form in 1934. The style from that rebuild is Tudor.”

Now I'm not sure going back to 1721 is supported, but fire insurance records indicate that there was definitely a pub here in 1791. There's a record in the proceedings of The Old Bailey, in other words, a criminal trial court that mentions The Mason’s Arms only in passing, but as I read it, I was amused that some things like drinking too much, trying to pick up girls, and losing things on a pub crawl haven't changed much in the 200 years since this proceeding. I hope you will find it as amusing as I did,

“On May 17th, 1809. The trial of Sophia Spencer and Ann Barnet was on the docket. Both women were accused of feloniously stealing from Abraham Tweed on February 1, a silver watch and some money. Tweed was on a break from his job as a servant to a lady in East Sheen. Mr. Tweed was questioned on the stand first, 

“Did you lose your watch on the 1st of February?”

“Yes, I had two pound notes, two ones, 8 or 10 shillings, and silver. This was in the evening, about a quarter after 10 o’clock. I had been drinking, but I was perfectly sensible of what I was about. I had been drinking from between 3 and 4 o’clock, but not hard.”

“And what part of the town was it that you left the last public house?”

“In Saint James Street, Covent Gardens, I believe. But I was not sure.” 

“Then everybody else must be sure that you were drunk. How do you know that your watch and banknotes were about you when you left the last public house?”

“I am convinced that they were what I had there, I paid for. I returned my purse to my fob on top of my watch, both in my fob.” 

“The house you left at about 10 o’clock?”

“Yes. My lodgings were at The Mason’s Arms on Maddox Street. I met these two girls in Covent Garden. They asked me to give them something to drink, and I did. It might be 9 o’clock in the evening.”

“Then you took them to this house in Saint James Street?”

“Yes. I cannot say the sign of it.” 

“Have you ever got your watch and notes again?”

“None of the notes. The watch is here. I had nobody with me but these two girls. After I got out of the house and went towards my lodging through Saint Martin's Court.”

“And how long were you from Saint James Street to Saint Martin's Court?”

“Not above a quarter of an hour.”

“I think anybody might walk in a minute and a half.”

“I was, along with these two girls. We did not hurry.”

“The question is whether you were sober enough to recollect the persons of anybody.”

“I was sober enough for that.”

“When did you see these girls again? If they were the girls that you were with.”

“I never saw them till last Wednesday before the Justice. I'm perfectly sure it was them. I went straight from Saint James Street to Saint Martin's Court with them. We did not stop anywhere.”

“Then I am sure you must be drunk.”

“They took advantage of me. My fob was torn. The watch and purse were both taken out and I did not see them take it.”

“How do you know that your watch was in your pocket at Saint Martin's Court?”

“I stopped nowhere else. They stopped with me, perhaps 5 or 10 minutes. I was all in an instant left by myself. That minute they were gone. I perceived what was the matter. It was dark, but there were lamps.”

“How came you to be so indecent? To have two women?”

“They hung about me and asked me to give them something to drink.””

Subsequent witnesses established the chain of custody from Pawnbroker, where the watch ended up back to one of the Defendants and Barnet. Ann then testified, 

“As we were going up to Haymarket, he followed us and would not let us go one way or the other. He took us into the public house. He would not let us go till we took him home. He gave me the watch till the next morning. He went away and never came for it. I took the watch and gave it to Mrs. Dowling.”

Sophia Spencer's defense was the same. You can kind of see from the questioning what the Magistrate was thinking about what really happened here. Not surprising. The verdict. Not Guilty! My comment. Perhaps Mr. Tweed should temper his drinking a bit. 

This pub is now in the Greene King Group. The inside is pretty much what you would expect. Here's a good description, 

“The interior has a warm, slightly grand feel, with rich wood paneling along the walls and a colorful cornice decorating the great clusters and vine leaves. The floors are bare wood with tiling around the bar, which also handsomely, is paneled. Behind it, an ornate mirror with Art Nouveau flourishes adds touches of elegance. Lighting comes from classic brass and glass fittings and frame prints, and hot vines give the space a rustic, lived in charm.”

Worth a visit, don't you think? And don't worry that hard drinking Mr. Tweed has long ago checked out. All right. Back out to Maddox Street. As I mentioned in the intro, the pub has some famous neighbors. Folks who lived and worked on Maddox Street. Now remember, The Mason’s Arms is at 38 Maddox Street, only five numbers away is our first neighbor of note, Samuel Charles Whitbread, at 33 Maddox Street. He was the son of the Founder of Whitbread Brewery, which was the largest brewery in the world at the end of the 18th Century. Even with the famous father Samuel, Charles did all right for himself. He participated in the management of the family brewing business, was an MP (that's Member of Parliament), and the Founding President of the Royal Meteorological Society.

Pub lovers like beer stories. So, you might be asking, hey, what ever happened to Whitbread? By the 20th Century, Whitbread still was one of the Big Six breweries that dominated the British beer industry. However, in the latter part of the 20th Century, Whitbread began to diversify its business interests beyond brewing. This strategic shift led the company to gradually reduce its involvement in beer production.

By 2001, Whitbread had sold all of its brewing operations to focus on the hospitality sector, including hotels and restaurants. Today, Whitbread plc is known for operating brands such as Premier, NS and various restaurant chains. Having fully exited the brewing industry. Other famous neighbors to The Mason’s Arms are from the music industry. First, The Rolling Stones at 46A Maddox Street, eight numbers down from the pub.

The Stones established their original headquarters there during the mid-1960s. The location served as their base of operations under the management of Andrew Oldham, who played a pivotal role in shaping the band's early image and career. Photos of Brian, Keith, Mick and Charlie were taken by photographer Alec Byrne in the offices there in May 1968. The site showing those photos is linked in the notes.

The lads all have coffee cups around the table, but you can't tell me that with that crew, a visit to a pub wasn't long in the offing. I am sure The Mason’s Arms just steps away, was ready to receive them. Subsequently, though, their management moved elsewhere like Chelsea and I guess The Mason’s Arms was replaced by another as their local.

Such is the life of rock stars. Finally, The Beatles used Chapel Road Recording Studio at 52 Maddox Street in August 1967 to record tracks for their song, “Your Mother Should Know.” They were there because their usual studios, EMI on Abbey Road, were fully booked at the time. It was only a couple of days, but who knows, they might have popped into The Mason’s Arms for a livener as well.

All right, that's The Mason’s Arms and Maddox Street. On to our last one, The Iron Duke. Four minutes away, down the street and over to Avery Row Number 11. This is said to be Mayfair’s last Mews pub, Mews being the service back alleyway for the grand houses. So, any Mews pub had to have gotten its start by catering to working class folks back in around 1720 when the area was being developed.

They needed a lot of machinery and bricklayer type dudes, and one such fellow was Henry Avery. His work must have been well received because Avery Row was named after him. I know it's just a little Mews, but hey, I don't have a street named after me. Even a small one. Congratulations, Henry. 

CAMRA gives us its take on the pub's history,

“Small L-shaped pub. First licensed in 1736 as The Coaching Horses. The present pub dates from 1866.”

Side note. Remember The Clarence also started out as The Coach and Horses. Evidently diversity in pub naming took a while to develop. It's not clear when the name changed from The Coach and Horses to The Iron Duke. pubwiki.co.uk shows records indicating that it still had the original name in the early 1900s.

The current name, The Iron Duke, of course, refers to Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, heroic leader of the forces that gave Napoleon his final defeat at Waterloo in 1815. After his military career, he entered politics and twice served as Prime Minister. A popular historical figure, at least six pubs in Greater London are named after the Duke of Wellington, with two others that did operate and are now closed though not everyone was a fan during his days as Prime Minister.  Potts & Cullen’s book on pub names previously referenced, tells us, 

“The Iron Duke was the nickname of Wellington that he acquired when he was Prime Minister between 1828 and 1830. Failing to see public anger due to famine, high unemployment and the unpopular Corn Laws, he said that there was no need for constitutional reform. After the opposing Whig Party under Earl Grey called for it. Upon hearing the news that rioters had gathered in London and were headed for Wellington's residence, Apsley House, he responded by barring the windows with iron bars. He would soon resign, and the Great Reform Act would come just two years later, in 1832.” 

What were the Corn Laws that got these folk so riled up? The Corn Laws were tariffs on imported grain designed to keep prices high and protect British landowners’ profits, many of whom, like the Duke of Wellington, were Aristocrats with large estates. But for the urban poor and the working class, those laws meant soaring bread prices at a time of economic hardship following the Napoleonic Wars. Public anger boiled over quickly, just weeks after the laws passed. Rioters in London, furious at food cost and the perception of the elite indifference, attacked the Duke of Wellington's house in Apsley. Windows were smashed and troops were called in to restore order. It appears that all, including the Duke himself, understood that the attack wasn't personal. It was symbolic. Wellington, a war hero and a peer, embodied the establishment. The angry crowds blamed for their hunger, although not seeking retribution, Wellington did take precautions, putting up iron bars on the windows of the house at Apsley, and as a result he got the nickname The Iron Duke.

Now don't complain about the Corn Laws when you go into the pub today. This is not the place for any anti-Duke talk. It's a cozy affair and the Londonist states, a distinct Wellington theme pervades the pub. Around the walls are annual photos of boys of Wellington College from the 1920s and thereabouts, with 98% of the school staff looking thoroughly disgruntled at the imposition.

There are also various Wellington boots around the walls, and the upstairs function room is named The Boot Room. Fuller’s runs the pub and CAMRA says that,

“Unlike most of the other pubs in Mayfair, the menu is not Gastro but a bit more down to earth - toasties and pork pies.”

Overall, another great place to quaff a brewski. Let's drink up and head back to the street for one last time this episode.

A one-minute walk away is a museum celebrating two great musicians who lived in adjacent houses on Brook Street, at times separated by over 200 years. It's The George Frideric Handel Jimi Hendrix Museum,and I am a fan of both of these guys. What were the holiday season be without Handel's Messiah, and what would the rest of the year be without Purple Haze and Crosstown Traffic?

Handel resided at 25 Brook Street from 1723 until his death in 1759, composing many of his renowned works, including The Messiah within its walls. The house has been meticulously restored to reflect its 18th Century appearance, featuring period rooms such as Handel’s, bedroom, rehearsal space, and composition room. Adjacent to this, at 23 Brook Street, is a flat where Hendrix lived from 1968 through 1969. The residence has been recreated to mirror its 1960s decor, complete with Hendrix personal items and a collection of his records. The museum offers visitors an immersive experience into the contrasting world of these two musical greats, highlighting their contributions to the evolution of music. Now, I don't know if George would’ve checked out a local Mews pub back in the mid-1700s, but it's claimed that The Coach and Horses, as The Iron Duke was known then, was around at that time.

But hey, by the 1960s, The Iron Duke was definitely a happening place to check out, and its location made it Jimi's local. He lived over on Brook Street for over a year, so I would think he might have stopped by more than once. At least when you’re in there, it's nice to think so. So, with that, we come to the end of our third and possibly last episode on Mayfair pubs.

Thanks so much for listening. Be sure to like, thumbs up, subscribe, and all of that. as you see fit. Drop me a line in the email listed in the notes hosteric@historiclondonpubcast.com, if the notion strikes you, and finally, let me mention Andy's map, also linked in the notes, it has all the pubs covered in these episodes. Remember, every pub tells a story if you know where to look, and we'll keep looking in our next episode.

Until then, Cheers!