Ep 40 Southwark's Must See Four Historic Borough Pubs - Press Gangs, Prime Ministers & Perseverance

In this third episode exploring Southwick we look at 4 pubs around Borough Tube Station: Kings Arms, Lord Clyde, Gladstone Arms & Royal Oak

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

https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/1/edit?mid=12c-
WKa3XiT1qTLydK8psZocUR7Y_Wes&usp=sharing

Or TinyURL: https://tinyurl.com/37nxr9k6

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 
• https://www.pubology.co.uk/index.html (incl Camra WhatPub & PubWiki)

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

King’s Arms & Lord Clyde

Dictionary of Pub Names, Wordsworth Ref Series, ISBN 1840222662

H. Friedrichs & J. Warland– Local Legends - the Hidden Pub of London ISBN 978-3791389738

https://www.pubsgalore.co.uk/pubs/24257/

https://www.londonpubexplorer.com/central-classics/the-lord-clyde

https://www.london-se1.co.uk/news/view/2484

Gladstone Arms & Royal Oak

https://www.pubsgalore.co.uk/pubs/24234/

https://deserter.co.uk/2016/08/is-the-glad-all-over/

https://www.london-se1.co.uk/news/view/9135

https://www.london-se1.co.uk/news/view/9084

https://www.london-se1.co.uk/news/view/8547

https://www.harveys.org.uk/harveys-story

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

Photo:  Reading Tom

Website: https://historiclondonpubcast.com/

E-mail: hosteric@historiclondonpubcast.com

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.

Today we're back in Southwark though this patch of London goes by a few other names as well. Some call it London Bridge thanks to the nearby tube and train station. Others might say Borough, which is a more specific part of Southwark and will be right near the tube stop that bears that name. And then there's Bermondsey, though that might be a stretch as it's usually used for the area a bit further east. 

We have covered this area in two previous episodes, Southwark Part 1 and Part 2 featuring pubs that are closer to the river. Today we'll back away from The Thames a bit and take in four pubs that are almost on the four points of a compass around Borough Tube stop. And none more than a five-minute walk away from it.

Let's start with The King's Arms at 65 Newcomen Street. The pub sits on what was known as Axe and Bottle Yard or Axe and Bottle Court, as Google Maps calls it. Axe and Bottle refers to a long-vanished coaching inn that went by that name and once stood here. It was one of the 12 inns that once lined the east side of Borough High Street. The Axe Inn is mentioned in court minutes from the Manor of Southwark in 1516. A rebuilt lease on the Axe and Bottle was granted in 1677. Minutes recorded in 1704 show an order to rebuild one storey higher of the house, 

“Blown down by the late storm in Axe and Bottle Yard,”

suggesting that the buildings were rather flimsy back then. Over the years, the street name is changed from variations of Axe and Bottle to King Street, or maybe even Man of Kent Street, until finally in the latter 1800s, it settled on today's name Newcomen Street. The namesake was Elizabeth Newcomen, a 17th century Philanthropist whose legacy has outlived her now by three and a half centuries.

She was the widow of Jonathan Newcomen, a Mercer - that's a dealer in fine cloth and textiles, often silk or wool in an age when trade in fabric was lucrative and a respected profession. So, Elizabeth had means. When she died in 1675, she left her estate in trust to provide clothing and basic education for poor children in the parish of Saint Saviors.

Her will specified not just garments of linen and wool, but also lessons in reading, writing and arithmetic. Practical tools for life. What's striking is that while she passed away in the 1600s, the street wasn't named after her until the 19th century. The memory of her enduring charitable gift, helping generations of local children long after her time was still alive 200 years after her death when, in 1879, the street signs proclaiming Newcomen Street went up, and as such, we still remember her today. 

Okay, onto the pub. The pub's name, The King's Arms. Now, that's not a rare one in these parts. It's estimated that more than 50 pubs in London share this name. Signs vary since the artist painting them has a lot of Kings to choose from. In their section on this name, the Dictionary of Pub Names has a couple of tidbits. While not specifically related to this pub, they are just too good to leave out, 

“A King's Arms in Oakley, a town about 30 miles south of London, has Charles The Second pictured with his arms around Nell Gwyn. This is supposedly an allusion to a story told in an 1875 book Tavern Anecdotes.” 

As we know, good old Charlie two was a fan of actress Nell and a lot of other ladies. The story goes like this. One of the courtiers to Charles, wishing to retire to some tavern for refreshment, inquired of a colleague, “What tavern would he recommend?” The friend suggested he'd better not go to the King's Arms, because they were always full, but instead try the King's Head, because it's always empty! Good story. Most certainly just a joke, but it makes a basis for a really good pub sign!

So, what does the sign for this King's Head pub look like? Surprise! There is no sign, only an impressive coat of arms above the name. You know, one of those 3D jobs that make it half painting, half sculpture. Pub blogger Ann Lafferty tells us,

“There's a magnificent sculpture of lion and unicorn above the door, bearing the date of 1760. According to some, this date was added later, and the coat of arms actually hails from 1728. In 1760, a London road widening project led to the demolition of Stone Gate, which stood at the south end of Old London Bridge. A stone gate boasted an attractive coat of arms, and no one wanted to see it go to waste, so it was apparently placed above the pub in Newcomen Street with the 1760 added to mark the date of its relocation.”

Thanks Ann! Records show that the pub was operating here in 1790. Other records of 1811 confirm the name The King's Head, so a start date of 1760, as the pub door claims, could well be correct, or maybe even earlier. In 1890, the pub was rebuilt and the coat of arms preserved. Pubs Galore has a review left by a contributor going by the name of Pub Sign Man. It's a good description of what you will find when you walk underneath the coat of arms to the inside of the pub. 

“Through the doors, you'll find yourself in a carpeted L-shaped room with the servery occupying the center of the back wall, with seating areas to either side. The bar has a nice dark wood paneled counter with gleaming brass handrails and street lamp style light features, plus a cool brass pot shelf and dark wood mirrored bar back. Pews, low stools and basic chairs occupy much of the perimeter wall space, providing ample seating for such a relatively small room. Low, dark wood paneling contrasts with the plain painted upper sections, decorated with old paintings, black and white photos, and a few plain mirrors. A small fireplace to the rear has a decorative surrounding, candles and a hearth and ornamental ceramic dogs along the mantle. This all creates a pleasant traditional pub feel, which is topped off nicely by the large front windows, which have those amazing brass lamps in them that look so appealing.” 

When approaching the pub, he concludes with a positive comment,

“I'm really glad I gave this place a long overdue try, as I thought it was really well presented. A traditional pub with enough concessions to the modern day drinker to ensure good mixed weekend crowd.”

Ann Lafferty, who I mentioned previously, writes the web Blog London’s Pubs Where History Really Happened. It's linked in the notes and it's good stuff for us pub history fans. For this pub she gives us an aspect of its history that I haven't found elsewhere.

So let me paraphrase what she tells us,  

‘Back in the days when Britain's Empire ran on timber, ships and cannon fire, The Navy had a problem. Not enough men were eager to sign up for a life at sea. After all, as Freddie Mercury would say, this was not a pleasure cruise. The solution? Bring out the Press Gang. These weren't just thugs. They were officially sanctioned thugs roaming the streets in packs of 10 to 12, looking for the able bodied men who might be persuaded. Translation - forced to serve. Tactics - threats, fists, clubs, and when that got tiring, they had to take a more underhanded route. They'd slap a coin known as a King's Shilling into your hand, your pocket or your pint. That single coin, if accepted, even unknowingly, sealed your fate. You were now enlisted in His Majesty's Navy and good luck arguing otherwise. Pubs, of course, were prime hunting grounds. Men were already halfway soused and the doors were few, and the chances of a clean getaway were slim. And this place - shallow fronted, no real corners to hide made the work easier. You could be spotted, singled out, strong armed before you even realized who was buying the next round. Things could get unpleasant, as you might expect, so the place picked up a grim nickname - The Carbolic after the harsh disinfectant used to scrub blood from the floorboards. The Press Gangs finally disappeared after the Napoleonic War. These days, the only thing you'll be enlisted in is another round.”

Give The King's Arms a try. And don't worry, I guarantee you won't wake up on a warship bound for the Med.  Okay. Out to the street. This was a East Point on our compass run around Borough station. Let's head to the northwest point - seven minutes away - The Lord Clyde. CAMRA gives us a nice thumbnail description, 

“A gem of a street corner building with a lovely external Truman tile work. Inside - traditional decor with wooden half paneled walls throughout, comfortable seating and curtains over the doors. It was all in the same family for over 60 years until early 2020, and it's now under new management. Tucked away near Barrow Underground station. Well worth a visit to step back in time. It has one main bar and a rear room with its own serving hatch.”

Thanks, CAMRA! The pub sitting just where it is now was on Peter Street until the street was renamed about the beginning of the 20th Century. So, with that Peter Street address before 1825, the pub was known as Peter and the Quay. In 1825 it became The Duke of Kent, a name it kept until the second decade of the 20th century.

It was rebuilt in 1913 and was renamed The Lord Clyde. The rebuild was done while it was part of the Truman’s Brewery fleet of pubs. As we discussed in the Peckham One Episode,Truman was a driving force in London pub architecture for the first half of the 20th century, and its Chief Architect at issue was the man with the plan, working for the Brewery from 1910 to 1939.

He designed around 50 pubs during his lifetime, with the high point of his career being in the 1920s and 1930s. At that time, English Brewers were trying to shed the Victorian sawdust on the floor image of pubs for a less rowdy atmosphere, with a greater appeal to women, a concept termed, ‘The Improved Pub.’ His pub designs generally eschewed the then fashionable modernism in favor of nostalgic new Georgian or even new Tudor designs that presented a dignified front that celebrated Englishness.

Ted Bruning, in his book London By Pub, gives us a good description. He starts by saying that the Lord Clyde was not one that he was planning to cover, but, 

“It proved impossible to ignore the profusion of elaborate emerald-green ceramic ornamentation around its doors and windows were a command to enter that could not be disobeyed. The ornamentation dates back to when the pub was rebuilt and the Landlord, whose name appears on the tile work - E.J. Bayling, took over. The ground floor fascia is entirely of green tiles, and the windows mullion (that is the glass in the windows is divided by framing bars and framed with more green tiles). One old windows is capped by an elaborate ceramic pediment supported on ornate floral columns. Inside, The Lord Clyde does not disappoint. It has an L-shaped bar and a separate parlor behind, all done by a cozy red plush with a pink plated Dado, printed wallpaper, and cream pressed paper ceiling.”

Thanks, Ted. There's a legend about one of the interior features of the pub - a clock. Now, I'm not quite sure if it's the one on the wall or if it's the one on top of the fireplace. It's one of the two. At some point after the pub opened from the rebuild of 1913, a lady came into the pub carrying a clock and looking for landlord E.J. Bayling.

Remember, his name is the one that's above the door even today. She needed some cash and proposed that he give her a loan of 50 pounds, and he could hold the clock as security. She promised to return when she had the funds to pay Mr. Bayling back, but that never happened. And the clock has had a home in the pub ever since.

The pub's name, The Lord Clyde.Now, who is the namesake with that grand moniker? Well, it's Colin Campbell. He was a Scottish Carpenter's son who rose in the military all the way up to the very top. Before he retired, he was offered the position of Commander in Chief of the entire Army. Wow. With that meteoric rise, you would imagine that he had a distinguished career.

And you would be right. Early on, he was in The Peninsula War, 1808 to 1814, where he earned his stripes under the Duke of Wellington, fighting in major battles and during the brutal Siege of San Sebastian. He was wounded, but gained early recognition for his gallantry. In the War of 1812 against those pesky Yanks, he fought the bloody Battle of Lundy's Lane near Niagara Falls.

Though tactically inconclusive, the engagement helped halt the American advance into Canada. Campbell was wounded again. One of the many injuries he carried throughout his career. Over to Asia, he took part in the First Opium War, Britain's controversial campaign in China, and various operations which ultimately helped secure trade concessions for the British Empire in India in the Second Anglo Sikh War.

Campbell played a key role in securing the Punjab for the British, showing steadiness in the face of chaos during a couple of key battles, including the Battle of Gujarat that concluded the war. In the Crimean War, 1853 to 1856, he led the famous Thin Red line of Highlanders at Balaclava, holding off a Russian cavalry charge with calm precision and earning legendary status in British military lore.

In 1857, as Commander in Chief in India, Campbell led the Relief and Second Relief of Lucknow - key operations in quelling the Indian Rebellion. His cautious, calculated approach saved lives and restored British control. He became known as, ‘Old Careful’ because of his concern for casualties. He refused to take the position of Commander of Chief of the British Army (a post his old boss Wellington had held) when it was offered to him late in life, saying that he was too old and had served enough, suggesting a man not tempted by rank for rank sake.

When he died in 1863, he was buried with national honors in Westminster Abbey. A career that spanned five decades, four continents and more battles than most officers saw in two lifetimes. I did not know anything about Lord Clyde until I started researching this episode, but I would say if there was a fellow who deserves to have a pub named after him, it's Colin Campbell. A toast to you, Lord Clyde, in the pub that bears your name. One final point about this fine pub, and I alluded to it when I read CAMRA’s introduction. The pub was run by one family for 60 years. In 1956, Dennis and Molly Fitzpatrick took over the license of the pub when it came time for Mom and Dad to retire, Michael and Lucy, their son and daughter in law, took the reins of the pub. In the first decade of the 21st Century, Michael and Lucy's son Martin took over management, aided by his brother James and sister Clare. Something you don't see often these days. Three generations of care for this pub. But by January 2020, the Fitzpatrick family had turned over the pub to Stonegate, a major pub operator in Britain. Some of the locals feared the worse, but from a personal visit last year and numerous other reports, things are in good hands. The book Local Legends The Hidden Pubs of London, concludes with this paragraph written in 2024,

“The new owner read the rule book and left well enough alone. All in all, this unadulterated charmer remains blissfully unchanged. A true example of if it ain't broke, don't fix it.” 

Need I say more to pique your interest? 

Okay, back to the streets and over to the southwest point of our full pub journey, The Gladstone Arms. On the way we'll pass where Marshall C Prison used to be. We covered that in the episode of Southwark Part 2. Marshal C was a place where Dickens’ father was jailed. Just past that site is another Dickens related point of interest. The Church of Saint George the Martyr, often called Little Dorrit’s Church because in the Dickens novel Little Dorrit, the title character is baptized, married and ultimately mourned within its walls. The church itself dates back to the early 18th century, but the crypt contains remnants of a medieval chapel. It's still a working church today, with a stained glass window paying tribute to Little Dorrit herself. Even though she was a fictional character, she is still remembered in this part of Southwark. 

Okay, three minutes away is our next one - The Gladstone Arms.  CAMRA does this introduction, 

“Small and welcoming pub tucked away down a street around the corner from Borough Underground station, a particular favorite with locals. It has a downstairs bar and upstairs lounge and a small roof terrace. It has a continuing strong commitment to live music.” 

Okay, seems like a solid local with a specialty of live music. The pub was here during Victorian times. First records are from 1869. Today's pub is from a rebuild of the 1920s. Let me draw from a review posted on Pubs Galore Website by contributor Pub Sign Man,

“This is a compact pub that has seen a gentle refresh that balances modern touches with its traditional character. Inside, it's straightforward and unpretentious. Bare floorboards underfoot, low wood paneling along the walls and a bar just to the left as you enter. A few well-placed lamps add warmth without overdoing it. The decor is eclectic. One wall features a mural of an Asian temple, while other corners mix vintage and contemporary touches. A Bulldog pub sign, neon lighting, potted plants, artwork and a string of Union Jack bunting. Seating is mostly at standard tables around the edges. Soft background music plays, though the room's lively acoustics suggest it fills up noisily. Overall, a nice feel to the place.” 

Okay, so what about the pub's namesake, William Gladstone? He was a man whose political journey was as eventful as his long career. He began as a Conservative, loyal to the Church and Crown, but gradually shifted course, eventually becoming the towering figure of the Liberal Party. Over the decades, he championed Civil Service Reform, free trade, expanded access to education; he even pushed to give more people the vote. Still a radical idea of his day. Gladstone served four separate terms as prime Minister between 1868 and 1894, earning the nickname The Grand Old Man.

His speeches could shake Parliament, but not everyone was charmed. Queen Victoria, famously unimpressed, said he addressed her as if she were a public meeting. Oh well, you can't please everyone! And while his public life was marked by reform, his private crusades were often even more intense. Gladstone campaigned tirelessly against what he called the great sin of prostitution. He would walk the streets at night speaking to sex workers and sometimes even bringing them into his house to help them start over. It was all very sincere and very Victorian. But here's the irony for the era's moral stiffness, Victorian London had more brothels per capita than ever before. Gladstone's personal virtue stood in stark contrast to the city's underground realities, particularly south of the river here, where there's a bit more, ‘anything goes’ atmosphere. Interesting, isn't it, that there's a pub named after him in this location.

The original pub was around from the mid-1800s, when Gladstone's career was not as prominent as what it later became, so the pub must have had a different name in the early days. Gladstone's terms as PM occur in the 1870s to 1890s. And by the way, Robert Cecil was PM before and after Gladstone in Gladstone's last term as PM in the 1890s.

Why do I mention this? Robert Cecil is the Marquess of Salisbury, for which The Salisbury pub in Covent Garden is named. So, both these guys have pubs named after them. I am so envious! 

Okay, back to this pub's name. It's frustrating that I can't find out more about this, so let me guess. I would bet that the pub took Gladstone's name in the 1920s upon reemerging from the rebuild. A rebuild frequently results in a name change. So, I'll go with that. But remember, it's just an educated guess. Now let's move forward onto a time when I don't have to make up the facts. ‘The Glad,’ as the locals call it, got involved in a life-or-death struggle in 2015. Developers proposed demolishing the pub to erect a ten-storey building of luxury flats. With the barbarians at the gate, the community rose to the challenge. A spirited campaign was put together, composed of local patrons, The Walworth Society, which is a local heritage group dedicated to preserving community character and spirit, and CAMRA. Their efforts led to The Glad being designated an Asset of Community Value, and the surrounding area was incorporated into the newly established Liberty of the Mint Conservation Area, providing additional safeguards against redevelopment.

Enlargement of a protected area to include a pub at risk was basically the way another pub, The Wenlock Arms, was saved. So, pub lovers keep that arrow in your quiver. Yeah, the pub was saved from the wrecking ball, but just like in the thriller movies, the forces of darkness rise again. After the demo fight was over, the pub encountered a significant rent increase imposed by the building's owner. This financial strain proved untenable for the existing management, leading to the pub's closure and boarding up in November 2016. The community was once again disheartened by this turn of events, but hope was rekindled in April 2017 when new tenants took over the place embracing the pub's rich history while infusing it with fresh energy. They reopened The Gladstone Arms, introduced an Anglo-Indian menu and revitalized its live music scene.

Today, eight years later, the pub is still going strong. There's a lesson here. The pub managed to survive by evolving, not by abandoning its roots, but by opening its doors a little wider. It became more of a reflection of modern London - diverse, layered and full of unexpected blends. And yet the essentials stayed the same. Live music still echoes from the snug interior, and the welcome is as warm as ever. The pub remains a gathering place for regulars, newcomers and the curious few wandering in from Borough. Just like the Prince of Peckham and the Golden Anchor. Two pubs we covered in the Peckham Two Episode, The Glad shows that a pub can change with the times, return to economic viability without losing its soul. Let's leave this pub with a quick story that shows that the present owners are good folks, in tune with their patrons.

When the pub reopened in 2017, the new management team floated the idea of renaming it ‘Pegs and Phrases.’ What, are you kidding? This is pushing modernization too far! The reaction was swift and not especially polite. Locals and regulars pushed back hard, and rightly so. They wanted the heart of the pub to stay. Starting with this name. To their credit, the new landlords listened, and The Gladstone Arms stayed. The Gladstone ArmsThe Gladstone Arms - so many close calls. It's like a Tom Cruise motorcycle chase! But just like in that adventure, the pub came out without a scratch. Sometimes the good guys do win. 

Okay, on to our last pub. We are back out on Lant Street and it was here in 1824 that Dickens, then a 12 year old, stayed in a house that belonged to the vestry clerk of Saint George's Church. This was during the period that his father, John Dickens, was imprisoned in nearby Marshall C Debtors Prison. Tough times for the Dickens family. Maybe if John had just opened that letter offering a new credit card, history would have gone a bit differently. 

Off now. A seven-minute walk to the southeast point of our tour around Borough Station. This is The Royal Oak at 44 Tabard Street. I can't walk on Tabard Street without mentioning its namesake, The Tabard Inn that stood over on Borough High Street from 1307 to 1873. The inn was made famous when Chaucer chose it as a launch point for his Canterbury Tales. We covered it more fully when we visited The George, but it's worth pausing here to remember we're walking streets layered with literary echoes.

The original Tabard stood both as a jumping off point to Canterbury and a place to stay when you wanted to enjoy the libertine pleasures of Southwark. So in its early days it would have been full of pilgrims, drunks, travelers, criminals and prostitutes, the latter being known in the vernacular as Winchester Geese. A diverse crowd, The Tabard, like all of Southwark, avoided the Great Fire in 1666, but had its own devastating conflagration a decade after that rebuilding occurred, and the inn morphed into more of a fit with the growing coaching trade.

The name morphed also to The Talbot. Coaching faded with the coming of the railroads, and by the end of the 1800s, the inn had fallen into disrepair and was finally pulled down in 1873. Today there's a plaque, but very little else. But I like to thank every pint poured in Walworth has a bit of Chaucer in it. Whether the bartender knows it or not.

And hey, if you think risqué stories were only invented about the time you were in high school, check out The Miller's Tale in Chaucer's work. Things could get really baudy in the 1300s. 

Okay, enough of that. We're on to The Royal Oak. There was a pub here in 1792, when the location was known as Kent Street. Records of 1822 tell us the pub definitely carried the name Royal Oak. Over the years they were certainly rebuilt, but the one that gets talked about is the one that was done in 1997 when the Sussex Brewer Harvey’stook over. CAMRA says of the redo, 

“The pub was restored to how it might have been in the 1850s.” 

Ted Bruning says in London By Pub,

“The interior is cool, clean, airy, broken up into three comfortable bars by partitions which were made using much of the original woodwork as possible. The new owner has a historic pedigree Harvey’s Brewery, founded in 1790 in the rebellious town of Lewes, Sussex.”

Rebellious? How, you might ask? Well, they lay claim to the biggest Bonfire Night in the country every 5th of November. And if you've ever seen the crowds at turn out, you'd suspect that many of them are fueled by Harvey's finest.

But the Brewery didn't begin with beer. They started with wine and spirits delivering old Red Port, Sherry, and Claret to nearby villages. Brewing came later, around 1820, as a seasonal sideline that slowly took over the heart of the business. Though the Harveys family originally hailed from London, it wasn't until the acquisition of The Royal Oak that they returned to their London roots.

Today's pub stands as a testament to Harvey's sense of tradition, and it's a haven for real ale drinkers. Harvey's beers are known for their deep traditional character brewing, with heritage use, local ingredients and traditional methods. 

Now let's consider the name. I really like it when a pub today has retained its original name. I think that's the case here. The name Royal Oak harks back to one of the most dramatic near-misses in royal history. After his defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651, the young Charles The Second went on the run, hunted by parliamentary forces who wanted him dead, and Charles had good reason to worry. They'd already taken his father's head. At one point he hid in the branches of an oak tree in Shropshire while soldiers combed the woods below. That tree, later dubbed The Royal Oak, became a national symbol of wealthy and survival. When Charles was restored to the throne. Nine years later, Royal Oak Day was celebrated across England and the name began appearing on pubs from coast to coast. We mentioned Charles The Second earlier in this episode when we were talking about the King's Head. He appears to be more of a lover than a fighter, I guess in being associated with the term Royal Oak he does kind of have a pub or several pubs named after him, but his girlfriend did a lot better. She has a pub properly named after her, The Nell Gwynnein Covent Garden. 

Okay, that's our round for today. If there's a brilliant pub I miss, please let me know. You can do that at our website historiclondonpubcast.com where you'll also find extras, maps and more.  

Or drop me a quick email. Just scroll down to the episode notes. If you haven't already, hit the follow, or subscribe so you don't miss the next episode. Thanks for joining me. And until next time, Cheers!