Picture Palaces may have
offered my mother and her sisters a taste of the kind of luxury that was
totally absent from their impecunious lives in the 1920s and 1930s but for the
previous generation or two, for the women of the late Victorian era that degree
of lavish opulence was only to be easily found in the rather more socially
challenging Gin Palace. Whilst her
daughters were to fantasise about unlikely encounters with the stars of the silver
screen, Old Nan Constant considered such notions as Silly as Cats’ Lights and had
always found her own solace and consolation by getting up close to the
sumptuous interiors offered by purveyors of alcoholic beverages.
Day to day life lived of
necessity in surroundings that could at best be described as neglected, at
worst as squalid, confidently led to a degree of alcohol dependence for some. My maternal grandparents Margaret and Edgar
Constant were definitely in that category, my grandmother at the
forefront. The little Constants were
accustomed to being regularly left to their own devices whilst their parents
drank in the nearest place that proffered mirrored walls and etched windows
along with the tipple of their choice. Their
largely uncomplaining offspring were quite familiar with feelings of hunger. The oldest two, Maggie and my mother, Nellie,
frequently talked among themselves about food and how once they were grown-up
they were going to learn to cook and would do so on a regular basis. For their parents the sole place of
relaxation over a decade or more was to be the gin palace or what passed for it
in the local neighbourhood. To step
from the grimy pavements of North Kent onto gleaming tiles and into often quite
exotic interiors was to leave life’s tribulations behind. This the couple did on a regular basis. Excusable perhaps for my grandmother who had
spent large periods of her young life in the East End of London where her own
mother, another Margaret grew to adulthood completely at ease among such places
together with the Music Halls of the mid-Victorian era.
It is not completely
clear when the Public-Houses of London, as distinguished from hotels, inns,
chop houses and coffee rooms underwent the change necessary to transform from
dingy abodes with sawdust strewn floors into something lofty and splendid. There is no clear point when painted deal
was lifted to polished mahogany, when small crooked panes of glass became
magnificent crystal sheets, when basic, useful fittings were exchanged for
luxurious adornments. But along with
these sensational conversions the middle aged, white aproned, overweight
bartender also vanished and made way for smart young women, well dressed and
smiling behind the bar. These women were
much envied by many of the female clientele and my grandmother longed to stand
alongside them. Just imagine working in
a place where even the potboys were all at once handsome and dashing with
cleaner aprons and more purposeful gaits than previously.
The very first purpose-built
premises for the sale of gin had emerged in the late 1820s and before that the gin
shops were quite small, often originally chemist shops as gin previously had
medicinal associations. Legislation had
to change in order for purveyors of ale and wine to include it in their
repertoire. The resultant and greatly anticipated saloons were based upon and emulated
the smart new shops also being built at the time and fitted out at great
expense with gas lights which a great many people considered to be vulgar. Nevertheless this new-fangled lighting became
hugely popular and Charles Dickens described it as perfectly dazzling when
contrasted with the previous darkness that had prevailed for decades. Little wonder then that Old Nan would later
recall that her own mother and grandmother rushed hell for leather into the
places that demonstrated it when it at last reached Bethnal Green. But of course, as always the stories from the
lips of our predecessors are half lost because they are never told at a time
when we are most interested.
Whatever the range of initial
reactions from our antecedents, the newly created and ultra-smart habitations
of gin vendors were central to ensuring that young women like Maggie Rearden
and her future daughter were destined for a more exciting life or that is the
way they came to view it. Old Nan when
in extreme old age still spoke glowingly of the most prominent of these
bastions of alcohol. Her most favoured
still stand today and it is hard to know how much their magnificence has
diminished over the years. The Argyll
Arms remains at Oxford Circus, originally built in 1742, parts of the place are
scarcely changed from late Victorian times.
The mirrors which miraculously survived the Blitz are impressively
massive. The separated drinking areas
still speak of the social divides of long ago when the upper and lower classes
must not cross paths. The place boasts
spectacular wood and glasswork and rare surviving original fittings. Maggie and Edgar, regularly frequented the
place when en route to the races.
The Flying Horse that was
once upon a time The Tottenham stands on the Oxford Street, Tottenham Court Road
corner. Fondly recalled by my
grandmother as also a Music Hall, the influence can still be seen in its
design. The Flemish Renaissance style of
the exterior leads to a highly ornate interior with fine painted ceiling and
elaborate murals of voluptuous nymphs by the celebrated Felix de Jong the
leading Music Hall decorative artist of the times. Old Nan recalled seeing the great Vesta
Tilley there and sat alongside her mother as a small girl being as good and
quiet as possible.
It is said that pub enthusiasts
travel far and wide to see the stunning Viaduct Tavern in Holborn. It was a favourite drinking place for
special occasions for my Great Grandparents from soon after it first opened in
1869 and was conveniently situated by St Paul’s and therefore easily reached from
Bethnal Green for a special night out.
Remodelling was carried out thirty years later and presided over by
Arthur Dixon, a leading light in the Arts & Crafts Movement. The exterior curves elegantly around a now frenetically
busy corner and the interior is packed full with etched glass panels and large
portraits that represent agriculture, banking and the arts. There is an original Lincrusta ceiling, much
admired at the time and a cashier’s booth where tokens were exchanged in days
gone by to purchase gin or ale because the staff were not trusted to handle
cash.
My own feeling is that
The Princess Louise in Holborn is still the most beautiful pub in London and a
stunning example of what Victorian extremes could deliver. It was built in the 1870s by the top
craftsmen of the day and has more recently been recreated with outstanding
authenticity. Within there is an
astonishing abundance of bright, fruit shaped tiles, glasswork and gilt mirrors. For gentlemen a visit to the basement
lavatory is a must to see the original tiled walls and fittings.
And still from London and
still one of its most dazzling drinking places, The Punch Tavern in Fleet
Street cannot be overlooked. It was
rebuilt in all its opulent glory in the 1890s by architects Saville and Martin
and its extravagance is immediately apparent with the glazed tiled entrance and
barrel-vaulted skylights leading to a bar that largely retains the original
design. A profusion of features survive from the
mosaic floor and cut glass mirrors to the sumptuous tile work, ornate painted
panels and pink marble bar. A series of
original Punch & Judy themed paintings from 1897 celebrate the fact that
Punch magazine was founded nearby in 1841.
In the most forward
thinking of the Gin Palaces special bars were often reserved for the use of
ladies although it was understood that what were seen to be the more common and
vulgar females of the city would not be permitted to enter and must stand
alongside the men. This my grandmother
was happy to do on most occasions but when her Edgar had a win at the races and
she was as a result wearing a new hat something inside her rebelled and she was
apt to saunter into the forbidden areas, generally not being challenged.
Many years later when the memory of the Gin
Palaces was diminishing she would smile when speaking of them because they were
magical places, allowing those at the very bottom of the social heap to effortlessly
enter into dream worlds where anything was possible. Even in the 1950s she maintained that you
could keep your Picture Palaces because they were not a patch on the Gin Palaces
from way back. Anyone who disagreed was
as Silly as Cats’ Lights. Now I wish I had asked more questions!
Very interesting. Thanks for the story.
ReplyDeleteFascinating story,sadly a lot of the old time pubs once available to the farm labourers,tucked away in the Kent countryside are gone,and are now up market dwellings .
ReplyDelete