My joint greatest writing achievement so far (along with my weekly Time Out column) - a full page lead article in Time Out's book section on London pubs that have featured in works of fiction.
Originally Published in Time Out London, June 18-24
The Green Man, Putney Heath, SW15 in HG Wells’ The War of the Worlds
Having found it deserted, Wells’ anonymous narrator reports that he spends the night ‘in the inn that stands at the top of Putney Hill’ but, unusually for someone who has broken into a pub, he doesn’t touch the booze as he has more pressing concerns, namely avoiding instant death at the hands of the Martians. Putney Heath was once an area so quiet that it became notorious for attacks by Highwaymen, but Wells’ protagonist is more concerned with avoiding the Martians and can’t fully enjoy the scenery as it’s scorched and littered with corpses following the invasion, so continues on his way into central London.
The Shakespeare's Head, Arlington Way, EC1R, in BS Johnson's Albert Angelo
Johnson lived in nearby Myddleton Square during the 1960s, and this pub features in his 1964 novel when the eponymous narrator, a supply teacher and aspiring architect, wanders by it and remembers a recent incident there: ‘The Shakespeare’s Head. New pub. Old one fell down. Ten minutes after closing time one night, just as all the operalovers were wending their uplifted ways homeward, the front of the pub fell out. Just fell out into the road.’ Presumably noting the irony of a pub, rather than one of its inebriated customers, collapsing in the street at the end of the night, he then continues on his way.
The Jeremy Bentham, University Street, WC1E in Ian McEwan's Saturday
The philosopher Jeremy Bentham still attends weekly meetings at University College though it’s unlikely he says much as he died two hundred years ago and infamously requested that the college preserve his corpse. The nearby pub that bears his name appears in McEwan’s novel when its protagonist, Henry Perowne, fears he’s about to be attacked by the occupants of a car he’s just had an accident with and realises it’s unlikely that the pub’s customers will rush out to his rescue: 'Just up the street is a pub, the Jeremy Bentham. But if it's open this early, the drinkers are all inside in the warmth.'
The Sherlock Holmes, Northumberland Street, WC2N in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles
In its previous incarnation as the Northumberland Arms, this is believed to have been the inspiration for the Northumberland Hotel, where Sir Henry Baskerville stays in one of Conan Doyle’s most famous stories, and is now a Holmes theme pub housing a range of memorabilia including a sample of soil from Reichenbach Falls, the site of Holmes’ temporarily fatal encounter with Professor Moriarty. The great detective’s favourite recreational pursuits, however, have sadly long since been outlawed: you can’t light up a pipe in there because of the smoking ban and probably won’t be looked upon too favourably if you decide to try some cocaine either.
The Shakespeare, Buckingham Palace Road, SW1W, in Patrick Hamilton's Hangover Square
Hamilton’s novel, set just before the outbreak of World War II, sees its main character, George Harvey Bone, go into the Shakespeare after getting off a train back from Brighton, but there’s something odd in the air: ‘He had some drinks at the 'Shakespeare' opposite Victoria, and everybody was very excited. There was a strange atmosphere altogether.' Obsessed with a woman and tormented by her indifference to him, the hapless Mr Bone drinks away what’s left of his sanity then returns home to Earl’s Court and murders the object of his affection before travelling to Maidenhead to commit a lonely suicide.
The Wheatsheaf, Stoney Street, SE1 in Iain Sinclair's White Chappell, Scarlet Tracings
Sinclair’s novel-cum-psychogeographical exploration of East End lore sees its characters enter the Wheatsheaf and find hidden meaning even in the pub’s decor, noting: ‘the bar has its own sense of what it should be: damp wood bowed like whalebone, cabin-close, engravings of the old city, its secret corners, obscure messages.’ Now relocated whilst work on the Thameslink extension is carried out, the Wheatsheaf witnesses a scenario that can surely only happen in an Iain Sinclair book: the resident pub bore, rather than ranting about football or immigration, offers his opinions on the suicidical eighteenth century poet Thomas Chatterton, so they make their excuses and leave...
