Pokers and Tongs say The Chapel of St John’s

The last episode, as regular readers and those with nothing better to do will know, didn’t actually take place in or by a church. This week’s missive almost headed down the same route as my nursery rhyme based research revealed that the St John’s as mentioned in this part of the song was The Chapel of St John’s which forms part of the White Tower located right in the centre of the Tower of London.

Chapel of St John's in the middle.

This was good news as on one level as it meant another extremely local tour with only yards to cover from our place of work and also James James had insisted on not walking more than 10 feet before he’d ever set foot on the tour again. But on the downside, this meant we would get no nearer to the “church” than the Beefeater guarded drawbridges of the Tower itself.

For those who don’t know much about the Tower of London, the White Tower is the square keep building right in the centre and as one might have guessed from this description, it’s the oldest part of the Tower and as such, this is another place which claims to be the oldest church in London. Luckily although we wouldn’t be able to get very close to the chapel, the White Tower is so prominent it’s easily visible from the path that runs by the Thames and it’s very simple to make out the arched windows on the second floor which is where the chapel is located.

Obviously the Tower abounds with interesting historical facts and the most interesting of these that I could connect with The Chapel of St John’s was that Elizabeth of York was laid in state here after her death in 1503. Now, who on earth is Elizabeth of York I hear you all cry out loud, well she was a woman who was daughter of a king, wife of a king, sister of a king, niece of a king, mother of a king and grandmother of a king (and queens). And to make matters even more incredible most of these facts she achieved in her lifetime.

I was quite impressed that I managed to recall all of these various kings and their numbers (Edward IV, Henry VII, Edward V, Richard III, Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I and Elizabeth I respectively) and even managed to weave my story into the claim that the two children’s skeletons found under the stairs leading up to the Chapel are supposedly those of Elizabeth’s brothers, the princes in the tower Edward V and Richard. That however didn’t seem to be enough for all female audience of hecklers. We were getting suggestions and questions of “isn’t this where Lionel the XIV was beheaded?” or “oh, I remember that this is when Shane the VIII hung his 12 wives, one after another.”

Idiot women got the wrong Tower in the background.

So leaving aside the finer points of British History we made our way to the first pub of the evening still at this point an all-female grouping. This had come about because the usual headache of gathering everyone together had multiplied into a right old mess and resulted in the girls getting squiffy on 2-for-1 cocktails in the appalling Slug and Lettuce and the boys refusing to drink in such a naff place going on ahead, a solution which it’s hard to fathom why we hadn't come to this sometime previously. I, like a poor man’s version of Dan Snow, had to hang around to do the church talk which judging by the claims that Arnold the II had burnt the cakes at the top of the Bloody Tower I needn't have bothered.

The 10 for 1 cocktail offer.

The first pub tonight was one we had passed on many occasions when on our collective ways to other tour locations, which is a shame because it’s a damn fine one, as we’ve come to expect from the Fuller’s stable. The Hung Drawn and Quartered might play on its name and take liberties with exact history but it’s still a fine pub and being a Fuller’s pub, one where we could once again produce copious amounts of free drink vouchers.

One element of the Hung, Drawn & Quartered.

I must say here that although we've never been refused a Fuller’s voucher, the blank look on the bar-people’s faces has shown that the message about what these are hasn’t quite filtered down to the shop floor. The chap that was serving me declared that my voucher was only good for limited ales, i.e. London Pride and even after I pointed out that in fact it was good for any drink I still ended up with the Pride instead of the Brit Hop which is what I wanted. Mind you, by this point I would have sucked the water out of a soggy flannel so thirsty was I that I quite happily accepted the Pride.

Ah well, next time maybe.

We did have a few new faces on the tour who need welcoming, the first being the replacement for Charlie. (Remember him? No hair? Couldn't hold his drink?) A much improved version of Charlie called Kambiz. We also had Shirley and Jade from Payroll, both making their first appearances even though both had been doing their best to avoid the tour for as long as possible. Jade admitted as much by answering my innocent remark of “nice to see you out finally” with “well, I was running out of excuses.” Mmmm, this might be one to watch. We were also joined by Monika who we haven’t seen for some weeks but who had dragged along her better half to endure an evening of beer drinking in the fine spring sunshine.

Endure was certainly the right word as we moved to the 2nd pub of the night, one which everyone was asking me why I’d picked it, and I have to wonder myself why I had. The pub, or bar, in question was the All Bar One on Byward Street which you just knew was going to be a disappointment when upon enquiring what ales were on offer the answer I received was “Doombar in bottles.” Ah.

All Bar None.

I settled for an icy cold Meantime Pilsner which gained me an Untappd badge but precious little else. Clever Brenda I noted had gone for a pint of Guinness and even cleverer Lucie had managed to coerce the management into fulfilling the free wine tasting that the signs littered around the place were advertising. That’s certainly one way of getting a free drink and much better than taking your own stuff from place to place. (Hint to Lisa and the miniature bottles of vodka!)

Ah yes, we're massive wine fans us. Phil leads the way.

Luckily the next stop was much better prepared in terms of beers as it’s the specialist beer bar The Draft House and their Seething branch which is located just behind Seething Lane Gardens. This is where we had Charlie’s leaving do (how has he managed to get two mentions this time?) and the range of beers on offer is substantial to say the least. I went for a Titanic Stout, (from Titanic Brewery) needing something rich and warming to take away the sting of the pilsner.

Titanic Stout.

Unfortunately although we managed to secure a large long table at the back of the bar we were split into two groups and in a rather role-reversed fashion the ladies remained propped up at the bar whilst the men sipped drinks sedately sat the table. I did enquire to see whether they wanted to join us but all I received for my efforts was a clove of garlic which I think Lucie eats in preference to chewing gum. Well she is French after all.

Beautiful people of The Draft House.

The final stop of the night was back across the road and into the Wetherspoon’s emporium called the Liberty Bounds which whilst doing nothing more than your normal Wetherspoon’s does, it has a competent range of beers including White Out from Brains which was my 1st pint, followed by a Märzenfest from Inveralmond Brewery which Brenda forced on me much to my jelly-spined resistance.

The group was now whittled down to the hardened most alcohol dependant tourists and there seemed to be much in the way of shared bowls of chips and shared gurning #selfies. None of which probably did us any favours. I think the evidence is conclusive.

Two Sticks and an Apple say Whitechapel

If you were attempting to throw together the ingredients of the perfect pub crawl you might search the back corners of your cupboards for such factors as; infamous pubs that were the scene of infamous murders, brew pubs where they brew their own beer in the cellar, crazy indie pubs with easy-going toilet attitudes and the oldest manufacturing business in the UK. Add in a sprinkling of three bare naked lady-bits to the mix and I reckon you might have the perfect combination.

This was the first location on this tour that wasn’t centred around a church because although The Oranges and Lemons rhyme says that “the bells of Whitechapel” are ringing for “two sticks and an apple” it turns out that these bells aren’t located in any place of worship but rather in the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, which is located as one might well expect, on that famous London thoroughfare, Whitechapel Road.

Tour Destination - The Whitechapel Bell Foundry.

BGC fans and followers will remember Whitechapel Road from the much lauded Monopoly Tour which was just about the first time Spikey Haired Ed and the BGC started their blooming and ongoing bromance. On that occasion we visited a few pubs at the Aldgate end of the street so in order to tread some new turf we needed to relocate further along to find some places we hadn’t been to before.

The Blind Beggar.

When I had done my research for Whitechapel Road for the Monopoly tour I noted that it was home to the infamous Blind Beggar pub, the much fabled location of one of the Kray Twins murders. Without going too far into the folklore that surrounds this rather sorry event it is obviously an intriguing pub that we only didn’t visit last time due to the fact it isn’t Cask Marque accredited.
I did some reading into the pub and even forced myself to sit through the Kemp brothers attempts to act menacingly and still couldn’t quite decide what to expect when the time of the visit came around, whether it would be a spit and sawdust drinking den of East End hard men or a twee and rather Disney-fied tourist trap playing on the reputation of its violent past. It was these and other thoughts that crossed my mind as I led the healthy troop of tourists on the short walk from Whitechapel Tube Station to the pub.

There was a good reason the turnout was so healthy on this occasion which we must also explain. Gorgeous George, someone who has brought an element of much needed glamour on the tour, was cashing in her company chips and moving off to pastures new. She very generously asked me if I would mind allowing this week’s tour to also double up as her leaving drinks and of course I was only too happy to oblige. We’d therefore picked up a few new faces for this particular visit as well as all the ugly mugs of the tour faithful.

Watney Combe Reid Brewery Sign on the wall at The Blind Beggar.

So knuckle dusters at the ready we entered the Blind Beggar and met up with New-Guy Mickey who would be a key figure in tonight’s tour. In the end The Blind Beggar turned out to be all those things I’d previously thought about and some more besides. It’s a big open plan place and definitely more on the spit and sawdust side of things than the gleaming horse brass and copper kettle side of things. The only nod to its violent past is a red plaque on the wall marking the spot where George Cornell met his demise and a display of commemorative t-shirts. There were three real ales on offer although my suggested round of pints of Timothy Taylor Golden Best was quashed as the attempt to pull a pint signified the end of the barrel. So it was pints of Courage Best for the beer drinkers and vodka fun drinks or yellow lager for the others. Lucie put her best syndicat d'initiative ears to the test and finding out that the barman was French managed to explain her request to share a bottle of cider with Isabelle. The other drinker of note was Gemma who much to the shock and awe of everyone who knows her was sipping fizzy water due to a slogging drive to Newcastle the next day. Bets were on to see whether that would last!

In this scene, Rob is playing the part of George Cornell.

Check out Brenda's jugs!

We retired to the garden area which was the biggest surprise about the pub. This was a very nice decorative area with lots of pub benches, pot plants and water features and was the perfect spot to crowd around a long table and enjoy our drinks on a rather balmy evening. There was a covered area at the rear of the garden, covered with blackout material with the walls made of bubbling falling water behind glass. The whole effect was very tranquil and calming and you have to wonder whether if Ronnie had had a quick fag out here before entering the pub that fateful night whether history may have been different.

All very civilised. Not a cosh in sight.

The next pub was just across the road and was named The White Hart, a brew pub in what Brenda thought was an old bank building saying it smacked of Nat West decoration. But by the carved etchings on the outside of the pub showing the pub name and an actual hart, whatever it had been previously used for it must have always been called the white hart.

The White Hart.

This place was doing a roaring trade and it was very much a younger hipster-ier crowd that had gathered at the various tables and mismatched chairs dotted around the interior. As previously mentioned this is a brew pub so all the ales on offer were brewed on the premises and were announced on the pump clips by the means of mini-chalk boards. I plumped for the stout which I have to say was superb and was the stand out beer of the evening. Brenda, new tourist John and any other ale drinkers we were still persuading to drink the real stuff went for “Hard Tackle”, a flavoursome IPA.

BGC attempts an arty selfie in the bar mirror.

I could have happily spend another round here but I guess if you’re sipping fizzy H2O (still watching Gemma) then it tastes the same wherever you are so we had to move on. It was a shortish walk down the length of Whitechapel Road walking past lots and lots of old buildings that you could just tell had been pubs at one time or another. With the flourishing immigrant community requiring its needs to be fulfilled many of these seemed to have been turned into fried chicken restaurants. In fact, this interesting website states that around the time of the Ripper murders there were a total of 33 public house establishments along the Whitechapel Road. Once of these was the Blue Anchor which can no-doubt tell many a tale before it was renamed to Indo in the year 2000.

Indo.

Indo is quite possibly the slimmest pub I’ve ever visited and when I researched the area before the tour, I thought this was a take away joint and completely missed the door leading into the skinny interior. Luckily the place wasn’t too full and we managed to crowd around the end of the bar and I got the order in for pints of Scarlet Fever from the Wild Beer Brewery. That I’d made the choice so easily was, as it turned out, a bit of a surprise as the beer range in the pub was substantial to say the list. There were 4 handpumps, 3-4 interesting things on tap (including Hofp Weizen) and a vast list of bottled stuff.

Pumpclips at Indo.

It was here that slim Spikey Haired Ed slipped into the tour after being previously engaged earlier in the evening and it was also here that Natasha slipped to the toilets and rather than waiting for the ladies to become free she popped into the gents with the end result that she ended up chatting with the next chap to visit doing his business whilst still washing her hands. Very friendly place this Indo.

Rob and Stuart by the striking clock-window at Indo.

John guards the list of bottled beers. Isabelle does her best Ronnie Corbett impression.

Scene of Natasha's Chat Show.

It was the across the road and a right at the East London Mosque and down to the non-church for the evening, The Whitechapel Bell Foundry. As previously hinted at, this is the oldest manufacturing business in the country and has been casting bells for the great and good since 1570. On my earlier reconnoitre the rear doors to the workshop were open and I could see the rows of bells being worked on. At ½ 8 in the evening everything was closed unfortunately and so it was in front of the yellow shuttered frontage that I explain that both Big Ben (or the Great Bell) and the Liberty Bell were both cast here and if you have a spare 48 or so thousand pounds lying about you too can be the proud owner of a 4 and a ½ ton C Bell

It was back over to the other side of the road again for what had been planned to be the final venue of the evening. If I said the name of this venue was “The Nag’s Head” you’d probably just think this to be another typical London pub, but if I said that all the windows to this particular Nag’s Head are blacked out and there’s a hefty bouncer on the door you might think this could be a different sort of venue, and you’d be right because I’d brought the tour to a “Gentlemen’s Venue” – Look, it says so on their website.

No point in trying to peer through these windows.

Now before I get accused of being supportive of such seedy places and the tacky trade that they purvey I will say in my defence that this particular venue had been on the “going out” bucket list for ages mainly because it’s run by relatives of New-Guy Mickey and he said he could get us all in for free!

Mickey, bless his cotton socks, was as good as his word and before you could say tight-fitting spandex body stocking we were inside and trying our very politest not to stare too much at the bevy of half-clad ladies that were working that night. Stuart, George’s soon to be ex-boss, had promised to get a round in for her leaving do and so was forced to the bar to complete our order. I had an average pint of Worthington Keg and I’ve no idea what the others were having as I was kept busy fishing pound coins out of the kitty so people could tip the next girl due to dance on the stage.
The “stage” was the size of a large postage stamp and was dominated by a tall silver pole upon which the girls would perform. Now whatever you want to say about strip clubs or this area of the sex industry in general, one thing you cannot criticise is the skill it takes to hang upside down from this said pole, clinging on by only the curved muscles of a sculptured thigh, whilst taking off your bra, doing it all in high heels and managing not to face-plant into the floor. Ladies, I can only respect your erotic athleticism and wish that I had had more available pound coins to have shown my appreciation more.

But it was probably wise to leave after one drink as some of the more delicate members of the tour were showing signs of palpitations and Nicola’s excuse for not tipping the girls in that she was leaving in a minute were wearing thin. Luckily my earlier research had located a final-final pub just a couple of doors down from the Nag’s Head also called, would you believe it, The White Hart, so it was here that the tour stalwarts ended their evening drinking pints of Hogs Back TEA and Shepherd Neame Spitfire whilst all trying to encourage George to book that flight to America and adhere to the rules of #YOLO

Don't look so glum George, have a beer and be as cheery as Brenda!

So George, you can have this tour dedicated to your good self and it goes with all the best wishes and thanks for making the tour that little bit more interesting!