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.
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!
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